Ancient History
by Onesmartcookie78
Summary: She told Logan she'd go with him to sort out his past. They hadn't even left New York before they ran into trouble in the form of a couple of weirdos known as "the Avengers"...Now they have to stop Ragnarök and try not to kill each other (or the estranged brother of a certain Norse God of Thunder) in the process. Logan/OC. In between the first and second movie.
1. Arc One: Broken Memories: Chapter 1

Ancient History

Onesmartcookie78

**A/N**: The Salem witch trials (as well as the others that occurred in England, Wales, Scotland and wherever else) were wrong and I do not condone them in any way. My character, Victoria Bishop, is based off a woman hanged for witchcraft with the same last name. The part where she says that she does not know what a witch is and the judge responds that if she does not know, how does she know that she is not one? _**actually happened in real** **life**._

Please note that I am trying to be as historically accurate as possible in this story; the historical events mentioned have been extensively researched.

Also; Erik's last name, "Lensherr" **is mistakenly spelt that way in the movie. I will be spelling it properly**, "Lehnsherr", with an _h_.

**Summary**: Victoria Bishop was born in the 1600s, so how is she still running around in the twenty-first century? With a deadly power, it's no wonder Xavier and Magneto want her for a weapon. Set during _X-Men_. Logan/OC.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the X-Men (although I really wish I owned at least Wolverine), only Victoria and any other OCs mentioned.

{~}

_"You're a liar! I'm no more a witch than you are a wizard! If you take my life away, God will give you blood to drink!"_

_-Sarah Good_

{~}

It's hard to ignore a woman with an ankh on the inside of her left wrist and a scythe on her right. Especially when both are in thick black ink.

I know because I try to every time I look in the mirror.

Her hair is a long, boring reddish-brown like mine; her eyes are a dull amber, just like mine; she possess the same high cheekbones, ski-slope nose and generous lips as me. Because she is me.

Is it bad that my lips are my favourite feature?

Getting off track- why is it so weird that this person in the mirror is me? I'll tell you why: she kills people.

* * *

**December 31, 1692**

It's accidental, I swear. I first discovered my "talent" (if it can even be called that) when I was eight years old. I was desperately sick for an entire _year_, enough that my parents had to call on a doctor. Nothing the doctor did helped. I recovered by myself at the end of the year, without any signs of my return to well-being. It was like I was sick, and then overnight, I was just... better. My parents were so relieved that they hugged me straightaway.

I made the mistake of touching my mother with only my right hand. My dad received my left and was all right, but mum dropped to the ground. She didn't even have a heart attack, or go into cardiac arrest or anything; she just fell over, dead. My father stood, shocked, having already listened for a heartbeat and proclaiming her dead. I had to know for myself, and so I knelt down, checking for a pulse with my left hand.

Being sick for so long had taught me a thing or two about medicine, I suppose.

Anyway, the barest touch and she was alive again. Her heart just picked up its rhythm and started beating again.

I burst into tears, after that, whilst my dad started shouting that I was a witch. Ah, the Salem witch trials- great time in history, huh?

They took me to the courthouse to hold a "trial" (more like scream that I was guilty). My mum didn't know what was happening, and just shouted my name over and over, sobbing. I remember my father, grim-faced, casually dragging her from the courthouse, telling her to go home. He himself had stayed and testified on behalf of my "witchcraft".

The whole time, I cried that I was innocent, that I strictly followed the Word of God, that I was pious and holy and whatever other religious phrases could beat their way to the forefront of my mind, underneath the "What is going on?!" reverberating through my skull.

I was ignored, to the point where I began to wonder if I really _was _a witch.

When they asked how I pleaded, I shouted that I was innocent. It went on for hours like that, them insisting that I admit to my sins or be forsaken by God.

Finally, I snapped, saying that I didn't know what a witch even _was_, to which my fair and righteous judge asked how I knew I was not a witch if I didn't _know_ what a witch was? My father jumped in, saying that I had cured myself of my illness in a single night when the doctor could not in a year.

Then, our resident coffin-maker took the stand and proclaimed that a few men had turned up dead the day before, and their murders were immediately pinned on me.

Some of the girls who lived in the houses around me (and who disliked me) informed the court that I was _obviously_ a witch. Whenever I would look one of them in the eyes in disbelief, they would fall out of their chairs in "pain". They said I had caused them "great and terrible pain of the most horribly severe variety", that it must be my "witchcraft".

At the age of eight and still a naïve child, I sincerely wondered if they were joking. If this whole trial was all a joke. I had, after all, killed my mother and brought her back to life just that morning. How could they believe that it was witchcraft and not a simple miracle? Wasn't it enough that mum was up and walking?

The day after, the townspeople decided to conduct a physical examination of me, at which point they stripped me naked and found the markings on my wrists. I was labelled further a witch, a child of the devil, though I swore I knew not how they had gotten there.

That afternoon, a warrant was drawn up for my death and I was hanged and buried...

Except I came back to life.

* * *

**January 1, 1693**

Are you afraid of small spaces? If so, being buried alive is not for you. If not, it's enough to _make _you claustrophobic.

Imagine waking up with a pain in your neck, splinters in your back, and dirt in your face in small, dark, enclosed space with little to no oxygen. It's a good thing the grave was shallow, as there were plenty of other "witches" that needed executing.

Now imagine being an eight year old child who just killed her mother (which would, undoubtedly, lead to years of therapy when they invented psychologists) and brought her back to life.

Throw in the fact that I truly believed myself a witch and you're set.

Anyway, I managed to bust myself out of the coffin, only to find that it was the dead of night. I rose from my grave, wondering how I was awake and living when my throat burned as though I'd been hanged... whereupon I quickly remembered that I had been.

Further proof that I was a witch, which meant I shouldn't be alive. As a devout follower of God, I immediately determined that I needed to kill myself. The Lord had clearly been disappointed at my previous death and brought me back to life to reenact a better one. I needed to burn myself to fully purify myself of my sins.

Or, at least, that's what I thought back then. I was only a brainwashed child in a town where some now believe there was something in the water. Likely a high quantity of arsenic, since it was well water. Now, I so was much more jaded; pessimistic, an optimist would call me, but a realist, in practice.

Anyway, I stalked to the judge's house straightaway and told him that it was God's will that I be burned to absolve me from my sins. His compliance was quick and I found myself tied to a cross, screaming as fire lapped at my skin while the crowd cheered barbarically in the background.

* * *

**February 16, 1693**

The next time I woke up was weeks later. Since my body had been but an urn of ashes, it was no surprise that it took longer for all the pieces to congregate in a suitable place to reconstruct my body. The process was agonising; it took long enough that I woke up early during various points of the reconstruction howling at the unbearableness of it.

I laid low after that second death, cold and afraid of my own body. It turned out that I'd landed in Wales, and I was quick to find my way to the nearest home. The owners were kind enough to let me stay with them until I turned eighteen and was raised a right and proper young woman.

The seventeenth century had passed, the year now 1703. I was on my way home from the market one evening when I was robbed and murdered. Except that I could never really remain dead. I woke up the morning after to find myself in an open field with blood staining my dress.

Figuring I'd probably already been declared dead by the local papers, I decided it was time for me to leave Wales. I'd been there long enough.

From then on, I dressed like a male to avoid suspicion whilst I travelled as I pleased. I went everywhere and anywhere. I died a few more times and found out that I was doomed to remain with the visage of a woman in between her twenties and thirties forever. It wasn't a terrible existence. I fought in wars that I believed in and some I didn't and fell in love. I did everything I could.

The idea of being a witch still heavily weighed on me, but as technology developed, science progressed, and cultures changed, I was given new theories to entertain. Concepts that would have been forbidden to me before (reading anything but the Bible) were opened up to me. I still disguised myself as a male for good measure, but I was happy to see women moving forward in the world.

As time passed, I, too, changed. I became withdrawn from the world with my discovery of books and learning, and found myself reading and writing alone in my very own laboratory. I experimented on the properties of my blood, examining it under the microscope and concluding that it was a gene mutation which had caused my "witchcraft".

I brought things back to life with my blood as a stable form of vitality. It was a wondrously dark time for me. In that period of my life, I was the closest to the devil I'd ever been; I didn't experiment solely upon animals (and feel very much like Victor Frankenstein in doing so). I also experimented on myself.

I would cut myself to see how much blood one needed to lose in order to die of blood loss (I estimated it was roughly one to two litres) so that I knew my limitations. It was from my secluded cottage -which lurked on the edge of a small town- that I discovered something far stranger.

The day that I died of blood loss, a thirty year old woman died of blood loss after slitting her wrists as I did. It was the sort of town where everyone knows everyone, and none could fathom her sudden suicide. On a whim, I investigated farther; I killed myself most strangely and awaited results.

A day after waking up from my death (I had decided to bury myself alive, which was both difficult and excruciatingly unpleasant- it was no wonder I became afraid of elevators after my first ride in one) I found that a townswoman of similar age to me had died in the same manner.

It was a life for a life, then; I died, and in my place, a woman of similar age (at least, in terms of my appearance) would take my place.

* * *

**May 5, 1962**

Anyway, I bet your bored of hearing about my past, so let's move on to how I met the wonderful Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr. It was simple, really. Charles used Cerebro to find me and ask me to join his team, which I delightfully declined.

It was my first interaction with any other mutants.

I had been sitting in Central Park when they approached me, playing chess as I so often did on weekend mornings. My opponent had to leave the match before we could finish though, and I was just about to sweep all the pieces into a box when a black knight jumped to a space of its own accord.

"Check." Charles Xavier sat down across from me, Erik Lehnsherr standing with his hands in his pockets to Charles's right. "Victoria Bishop, I presume," he offered me his hand, which I ignored. "I'm Charles and this is Erik."

"That's an old name." I commented, thinking of my dad suddenly, unpleasantly, and trying my hardest to appear unsurprised, as well as to ignore the tingling in my head. It felt very much like someone was walking around in my head. "A very, very old name. It belongs to a long deceased relative of mine." I moved my rook decisively, capturing the offending knight in a move that put _his _king in check. "Mate in six moves," I offered. "You have until then to explain your mutations."

Charles and Erik bristled at that. "How do you know they're mutations, not something else?"

"I have studied my own anatomy extensively," I answered. Mutants. If it felt like someone was creeping around inside my head near the two of them, one of them probably was. And based on the slightly guilty expression lining Charles's forehead, it was him. "But you should already know that. Find what you're looking for in my head, Charles? It's rude to borrow information without asking."

Charles moved his king back a space to avoid capture, looking sheepish. "Ah, sorry. We're used to dealing with teenagers," he said by way of excuse. And as far as excuses went, it was a terrible one.

"Teenagers ignorant to their own DNA coding," I muttered, trying not to smirk at his defensive position on the board. "As well as your mental snooping." I moved my queen to a position that nearly put him in check again. "How did you move the piece?"

"I didn't, that was Erik," Charles replied, moving a pawn closer to my side of the board, where he would obviously exchange the weak piece for his own long dead queen.

"I can control metal," Erik supplied shortly, looking bored.

"I'm guessing tall, dark and brooding scared off a mutant once, so now you do the talking, because you feel you are more charming?" I questioned Charles, intercepting his pawn with my bishop slyly. His move was predictable, since the pawn had been close to my side of the board and was one of his few remaining pieces. Unfortunately my move sent his king back to a corner.

"You're very perceptive," Charles complimented me. "What I really wanted to ask, however, is if you'd be interested in joining our... how should I put it... school for mutants? With your experience, you could be a valuable teacher, for the kids and for Erik and I."

My eyebrows shot up as I moved my other rook, only leaving Charles two spots to move between each turn with his king. His pawns could have the board for all I cared, because his king was mine in three turns. "I'm almost two hundred eighty years old. I have seen wars waged and lost over religion, resources and land. I have learned everything I can, but I am hardly willing to live anymore."

As I spoke, he moved a pawn forward. I moved my own pawn towards his king, continuing: "I wish to remain impartial to whatever war is brewing on the horizons."

"How do you know that-?" Charles allowed the inquiry to trail off, moving the same pawn.

"You learn the signs, and the pissing contest America is having with the USSR in terms of building up the nuclear arsenal is a dead giveaway," I rolled my eyes, moving my queen deliberately. "We have been on the edge of war for some time now. It is only natural that it come to a head."

"That head will be caused by the mutants," Charles countered, distracted by my queen. Meanwhile, my bishop went unnoticed... he moved his pawn again, one move from my side of the board. "A man named Sebastian Shaw is instigating a confrontation between the U.S. and the Soviets in Cuba. He convinced the U.S. to put missiles in Turkey and the Soviets to put missiles in Cuba."

"He wants them to use the nuclear weapons we've built," I realised, moving my bishop that single, final stroke and declaring: "Mate."

Charles stared at the board in confusion. "How-? Oh the bishop. Clever. I'm going to pretend you didn't boost your ego using that specific piece," he said cheekily.

I shook my head at him in amusement, clearing the board. "Regardless, I'm going to have to decline, boys," I put the lid on the box, drawing myself up to my full height, which was admittedly only five foot six. Not exactly short, but not really tall, either. "I find myself in a period of retirement, right now. It comes in cycles," I shrugged. "It's selfish of me, but with near immortality, I don't really need to worry about the end result of this war either way. I'm just tired of the repetition," I confided. "I only just got of WWII, so don't drag me into three just yet."

"WWII ended seventeen years ago," Erik informed me tightly, his hands clenching in his pockets.

"Passed in a blink of an eye for me," I remarked. "Come see me in about," I looked at each of them, trying to think of a decent period of time by estimating their ages. It wouldn't do to give them a number they wouldn't live to see. But I still wanted to make it a damn long time... "I think you two can survive another half-century, at least, so find me then. Any sooner?" I wriggled my gloved fingers at them in warning. They must know about my mutation. Why else would they come to find me, specifically?

As I stalked away, I could hear Erik mutter: "Piece of work, like that guy in the bar."

I pretended not to hear.


	2. Arc One: Broken Memories: Chapter 2

Ancient History

Onesmartcookie78

**A/N**: The Salem witch trials (as well as the others that occurred in England, Wales, Scotland and wherever else) were wrong and I do not condone them in any way. My character, Victoria Bishop, is based off a woman hanged for witchcraft with the same last name. The part where she says that she does not know what a witch is and the judge responds that if she does not know, how does she know that she is not one? _**actually happened in real** **life**._

Please note that I am trying to be as historically accurate as possible in this story; the historical events mentioned have been extensively researched.

Also; Erik's last name, "Lensherr" **is mistakenly spelt that way in the movie. I will be spelling it properly**, "Lehnsherr", with an _h_.

Lastly, Victoria gives nicknames. Cyclops is "Shades" and Storm is "Moneypenny". This is a dig at how Ororo answers the phone at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, causing Victoria to believe her a receptionist. It's also amusing because Halle Berry, who plays Storm, is a Bond Girl in _Die Another Day_. Jean Grey is "Mary Jane" because she has red hair. This name is taken under the pretence that Spiderman **does not exist in the Marvel-universe**,_  
_

**Summary**: Victoria Bishop was born in the 1600s, so how is she still running around in the twenty-first century? With a deadly power, it's no wonder Xavier and Magneto want her for a weapon. Set during _X-Men_. Logan/OC.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the X-Men (although I really wish I owned at least Wolverine), only Victoria and any other OCs mentioned.

{~}

_"It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets." _  
_\- Voltaire_

{~}

**April 1, 2004**

To say I was nonplussed when I received a letter from "Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters" was an understatement. How old did they think I was? I snorted, almost trashing the mail before reading it, but it had come all the way from America and the name sounded at least _slightly_ familiar.

Oh, I forgot to mention. I move every ten to twelve years, when I can no longer excuse my inability to age. I start out by saying I'm as young as I can pass for so I can stay for as long as possible. The youngest I've gotten away with is twenty, and even then everyone told me my eyes made me look old.

Right now, I was in Greece, soaking up the sun on the beautiful beaches. The food was pretty good, too.

Anyway, I opened the letter, startled to see that it was an invitation to come teach at a mutant school in New York in the States. I hadn't been there since just before the Cuban Missile Crisis, when some mind reader named Charles Xavier and his shiny-metal-loving friend, Erik, had informed me that a mutant named Shaw was trying to cause world war three. I had all but rudely told them to go fuck themselves and hightailed it out of there.

I had stayed far away from Cuba as well as Russia and Turkey, after that, instead choosing to spend the next fifteen years in the Arctic.

My eyes widened upon my recollection- Charles! Charles Xavier! If this was his school, I was going to kill him! I vaguely recalled telling him to wait fifty years before contacting me.

Grumbling to myself, I called the number provided. A woman introducing herself as Ororo answered the phone and had me wait to speak to Dr. Xavier.

Finally, he picked up:_ "Hello."_ He said it definitively, as though his greeting was no question; like he knew I would call.

"Charles Xavier, would it be you who is sending me letters to join the teaching staff for a school full of mutants?" I fumed.

_"No, different Charles,"_ he sighed, and my cheeks flushed.

"Oh, sorry," I mumbled, embarrassed and about to hang up.

_"No, wait, don't,"_ Charles said quickly._ "I was joking,"_ amusement laced his voice.

"You arse," I growled, "how many years has it been?"

_"Forty-two,"_ he answered, chuckling. _"I was supposed to wait fifty, but I'm severely understaffed. Think you can come eight years early?"_

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "So long as you don't want me to fight. I was in Korea, Vietnam and a bunch of other wars I don't feel like talking about in succession. I don't need any more right now."

_"You're at that part of the cycle right now?"_ he asked.

"Yeah," I agreed. "I'm bored right now, too much time spent lazing around on beaches and boats with cats and tourists. What do you want me to teach?"

_"What would you feel comfortable teaching?"_ he turned the tables on me.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm three hundred twelve, certainly qualified for history or literature, though I'm not sure how willing I am to teach either. I've read damn near everything, so pick a subject and I'll teach it."

Silence._ "We have a math teacher, a shop teacher and a science teacher. We could use a history teacher, an English teacher and a gym teacher."_

I whistled, "When you say understaffed..."

_"Yeah,"_ Charles agreed. _"History and English, then. You're more than qualified for both. If you can teach a gym period, too, that would be great."_

"Fine," I conceded. "When do you want me there?"

_"As soon as possible. We need all the help we can get."_

"I can be there tomorrow," I said, fingers tapping on the phone as I started packing. That consisted of me throwing clothes haphazardly into my suitcase. I wasn't exactly "up to date" on fashion; mostly I just kept the clothes I liked until they had to be thrown out because they had too many holes, or the fabric was too faded. "I'll call you later with the time my flight gets in. Have someone pick me up at the airport, if they can," I requested.

"That can be arranged," Charles said._ "I didn't think you would be so eager, honestly."_

"I'm in a nurturing mood right now, and I'm thinking American history," I smirked. "I know a lot about Pre-Revolution America."

_"Is that when you were born?"_ Charles feigned ignorance.

"You've been inside my head, Chaz, you know my past," I replied. "You poked around my head when you stalked me in Central Park that day. Speaking of, how did you not win that chess match with your telepathy?"

_"I actively tried not to use it,"_ Charles admitted._ "And 'Chaz'?"_

"It's that or 'Chuck'," I told him knowingly, zipping my suitcase and moving onto my bookcase. I started packing my extensive library into cardboard boxes, already dreading the cost of shipping my things overseas. Again. "Charles is too stuffy a name."

_"Does this have anything to do with the fact that your father's name is 'Charles'?"_ Charles said quietly.

My throat closed up and my heartbeat seemed to slow. I didn't respond for a long time. "You know the answer to that," I finally managed to choke out, stuffing books more roughly into boxes.

_"If you ever need to talk about anything,"_ he offered quietly. _"I'm here and I know."_

"Yeah," I said, closing my eyes. "I'm going to go book a flight."

* * *

**April 2, 2004**

I managed to get a red eye to New York flying direct. I never did fall asleep on the plane, or the night before. Instead, I occupied myself with a Nancy Drew book, terrible aeroplane coffee, and my CD player, which was currently rolling the greatest Beatles album of all time.

Took me back to Woodstock.

When I arrived at the airport, I was more than a little exhausted and, accordingly, irritable. A guy with a nice set of red sunglasses and a woman with long, white-blond hair greeted me. Shades said his name was Scott, but I could call him Cyclops, and blondie turned out to be receptionist. She told me to call her Storm.

I was so calling Scott "Shades" and Ororo "Moneypenny".

I told them as much, and Scott just shrugged. Ororo looked a bit offended to be reduced to a Bond-girl/secretary, but I winked at her and I figured we'd be all right if she could understand my movie reference. The boot of the car received my lone trunk and I curled up in the backseat. Scott was driving and Ororo was talking on her mobile, her face grim.

"Victoria," Ororo handed the mobile to me. "Dr. Xavier wants to talk to you."

"Thanks, Moneypenny," I took the mobile from her, already dreading what he was going to say. My stomach was twisting in knots and I just knew that it was bad news. "What is it, Chaz?"

Scott's sunglasses found my eyes in the rear-view mirror at the nickname, whilst Ororo whispered instructions in his ear.

"There's been a change of plans," Charles sounded apologetic. Why would he be apologising? Unless...

"I told you I didn't want to fight," I hissed. It wasn't that big of a deal, but I felt like I had to hold my ground to refrain from being labelled as a push-over. "That's what I said. It was our agreement."

"It shouldn't be a fight," Charles said quickly._ Almost too quickly..._ "You just need to pick up two mutants in Canada. It should be fast, except for the drive."

"Do you swear?" I wondered, tapping my fingers nervously on the cover of my book.

"I swear that that's what I _think_," Charles replied. The good man wasn't going to leave me any ammunition for if he was wrong. Clever.

"That's as good as it's getting," I muttered, hanging up. I handed the mobile back to Ororo.

The silence stretched thick throughout the duration of the tense New York traffic until we crossed the border to Canada. It had been more than a few hours at that point, and Ororo tried to strike up conversation.

"So, do you have a nickname? 'Victoria' is a little long," she mused, brushing her straight hair behind her ears. The colour was natural, and her long, side fringe looked good. It would have looked like a wig, had her fringe been shorter and her hair been more platinum.

"No. When I was born, 'Victoria' was a right proper name. I have not been called 'Victoria' in a long time though," I admitted casually. I couldn't help but fiddle with my gloves as I talked about the past.

"When were you born?" Scott asked with a frown, eyes (eye?), I assumed, on the road.

"Sixteen eighty-four," I drawled, enjoying the shock in, at the very least, Ororo's eyes. "In Salem. Good times. Wound up hanged and burned on the stake within hours of each other," I said as wistfully as I could manage, like my past was one big show and I was just an actor trying to make a poignant tale happy. Subtext, my friends.

"What's your power?" Ororo gave me a sad, almost pitying look.

"I kill people with one hand and bring them back to life with the other," I nonchalantly crossed my legs and flipped to the page I had left off on. "Oh, and when I die, someone else dies in my place so that I can live."

"Christ," I heard Scott mumble.

* * *

When we found the two mutants, my hair was on end. Something bad was happening to them. They were being attacked. Ororo and Scott automatically leapt out of the car, but I stayed stock still.

Could I? Should I? If I ended my peacetime streak, I was going to go into a war cycle for a while. There was just something about the thrill of my heart pounding in my ears, the adrenaline rushing through my veins, the endorphins flooding my brain, that made me addicted to fighting. It's a hard habit to break when it's all you've ever known.

I've found that war gives me a purpose, but further destroys my identity.

In other words, I really shouldn't... but if their yells were anything to go by, I really needed to any way.

By the time I reached them, Ororo was making it snow harder than before. I stripped the glove off my right hand with a sigh, stuffing it in down the front of my blouse. I was wearing something that would've been considered indecent at the time of my birth, a fashion from a later century. To be honest, it was an outfit from the when I'd had a brief stint as a privateer (okay, pirate) in the eighteenth century.

The white blouse was made of loose linen and could pass for something a little more this century so long as I didn't wear the wrong things with it. Which I wasn't doing too badly that day, I swear.

The shirt was off-the-shoulder (it helped that I'd cut the sleeves to the elbow, instead) and I was wearing it with a dark green corset. A pair of dark brown trousers were modern enough to pull the look together, I hoped. I avoided ringing my eyes in kohl, so I'd say it was current enough. The boots I'd acquired last week and was wearing probably made it look better.

Regardless, I doubt anyone cares about my lack of fashion sense.

So Ororo made it snow harder and Scott fired a laser out of his glasses (I could feel my lips form the word "wicked"), sending a heavy looking bloke with long blond hair flying. The man seriously looked like a hippy, except even more unkempt.

I rolled my eyes when I realised I wasn't going to have to fight after all and retrieved my glove, sliding it back over my hand as Ororo and Scott recovered. I wrenched open the passenger door to reach the girl trapped inside and quickly stepped out of the way for Cyclops to work his... magical beam? when I found that her seat belt was stuck.

I grumbled to myself as I pulled the bloke off the front of the camper. He weighed tonnes. Seriously, I wasn't sure how I could be expected to lift him anywhere. Scott came to my aid, gesturing for me to take the girl while he took the man. With a little assistance from Ororo's miniature, controlled tornado, we were able to take the man and the girl (who was conscious and leaning on me tiredly) to the car.

We drove a short distance before parking inside a jet which almost immediately took off.

Ororo lead the girl, Rogue, to Charles, leaving Scott and I to deal with Logan or "Wolverine", as his dog tags said. I frowned when I saw his face. He looked very similar to someone I'd served in 'Nam with...

Between the two of us, Scott and I managed to drag Logan into the med-bay. A red head named Jean Grey (I'm just going to call her Mary Jane) awaited us there. She helped us heft Logan onto her observation table, but Scott convinced her to wait to test Logan until we got back to the school. We were, after all, going to be there in only an hour. It would be pretty hard to move him once she got started, too.

So Mary Jane allowed herself to be taken out of the room, her eyes landing on me suspiciously as I simply sat down next to Logan, trying to force myself to remember.

* * *

**_September 12, 1969_**

_Gunfire, dodging a spray of bullets. A grenade landed to my left and I hardly thought as I picked it up and lobbed it back. The sound of the explosion was satisfying._

_Rain poured and I was sopping wet, lost from my division. I tread the land carefully, unwilling to stumble into a trap whereupon I would be stabbed by a bamboo stick covered in faeces and die of infection after an agonising few months._

_Something rustled in the trees and I reloaded, spinning around to face Logan. He held up his hands in mock surrender before reaching for his own gun as screaming was heard from our right. He gestured that I take point and I acknowledged his judgement with a nod._

_We treaded carefully, Logan occasionally pulling me back from a spot that he thought was booby trapped. I trusted him to guide me safely to the screaming._

_"Bishop," he nodded to the left and stood with his gun drawn as I checked on the soldier laying on the ground. I felt for a pulse with my gloved hands, but found nothing. I closed his eyes sadly._

_Logan had already known, and gave me a sad look. His enhanced capabilities made him a force to be reckoned with, and those claws only served to turn him further into a dangerous weapon. "Don't bring him back," Logan advised, seeing the look in my eyes. "Who knows who's watching."_

_I nodded, stripping off my helmet and laying it on the fallen soldier's chest before running dirty fingers through my sweaty hair. I smudged dirt on my forehead on accident, but I couldn't be bothered to wipe it off. I would only get my face even dirtier._

_Logan did it for me, his brown eyes intent on mine for the moment before he said: "Aren't you worried that they'll find out you're a woman?"_

_"I don't really care anymore," I said, shivering from the downpour. It was monsoon season, and fucking hell._

_"Cold?" Logan asked, staring at me curiously._

_"A bit," I admitted with a shrug. "Nothing I won't live through and better than the fucking heat."_

_Logan smirked in agreement just as I tripped, felled by a piece of rope. "Bishop?" he questioned, helping me up. We spun around, only to be met with a whole herd of Vietcong._

_"Shit," I swore. "Good thing we're not normal, eh, Logan?"_

_He grinned, "Been looking for a fight."_

* * *

I woke up in a bed in a strange place, sweating and panting and gasping. I ran a hand down my face, realising that I must be in the school. I let out a sigh of relief before exploring the room. There were three doors; one lead to an office, which had enough bookshelves for me to fill; the other to a hallway; and the third to a bathroom.

I went to the shower stall, turning the water as hot as it would go, still freezing cold, like I'd been to Vietnam again, getting doused in rain and bullets. I could still see Logan's face when I closed my eyes, as though the memory longed to continue.

There wasn't much left of it; just Logan and I killing our attackers, both of us managing not to die and then come back to life. Then we'd looked at the carnage.

I had never really regretted killing anyone- I only attacked if I was attacked first and if you lived as long as I did, you would find out that everyone dies, some people just die younger than others. It was a cynical outlook and likely to offend some, but that's how I justified it. It's how I rendered myself capable of sleeping at night.

I shivered again as I remembered, before stepping into the scalding hot water. I scrubbed at my skin like I was covered in the grime of war, taking deep, shuddering breaths. Finally, my legs failed me and I sank to the floor, burying my face in my knees and wrapping my arms about my legs. Tears followed.

Sometimes my justification wasn't enough.


	3. Arc One: Broken Memories: Chapter 3

Ancient History

Onesmartcookie78

**A/N**: The Salem witch trials (as well as the others that occurred in England, Wales, Scotland and wherever else) were wrong and I do not condone them in any way. My character, Victoria Bishop, is based off a woman hanged for witchcraft with the same last name. The part where she says that she does not know what a witch is and the judge responds that if she does not know, how does she know that she is not one? _**actually happened in real** **life**._

Please note that I am trying to be as historically accurate as possible in this story; the historical events mentioned have been extensively researched.

Also; Erik's last name, "Lensherr" **is mistakenly spelt that way in the movie. I will be spelling it properly**, "Lehnsherr", with an _h_.

Lastly, Victoria gives nicknames. Cyclops is "Shades" and Storm is "Moneypenny". This is a dig at how Ororo answers the phone at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, causing Victoria to believe her a receptionist. It's also amusing because Halle Berry, who plays Storm, is a Bond Girl in _Die Another Day_. Jean Grey is "Mary Jane" because she has red hair. This name is taken under the pretence that Spiderman **does not exist in the Marvel-universe.**_  
_

**Summary**: Victoria Bishop was born in the 1600s, so how is she still running around in the twenty-first century? With a deadly power, it's no wonder Xavier and Magneto want her for a weapon. Set during _X-Men_. Logan/OC.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the X-Men (although I really wish I owned at least Wolverine), only Victoria and any other OCs mentioned.

{~}

_"But who can remember pain, once it's over? All that remains of it is a shadow, not in the mind even, in the flesh. Pain marks you, but too deep to see. Out of sight, out of mind."_

-Margaret Atwood

{~}

**April 2, 2004**

I got out of the shower fifteen minutes later, towelled off, and dressed. I had accidentally chosen a riding dress from the nineteenth century, but I had thankfully torn out the laces years ago in favour of a zipper. At least I only had to bother with the dress bit, not all of the other parts. No way in hell was I wearing all the layers.

As I stumbled out of my room, I heard Charles' voice in my head:

**G_o left from your room, take a right at the first intersection you come across, and your classroom in the third on the left._**

I grumbled to myself about not even being offered breakfast as I trudged down the hallway. As it turned out, I, as the teacher, was the last person in the room. The bell rang a split second after I walked in and I seated myself at my desk. I would've put my boots on the table, but I was wearing a dress, so I refrained.

"Hello," I said uncertainly. What class was this?

I was met with dead silence. "Am I teaching history or English this period?" I asked my students.

"History," someone thankfully informed me.

"Who are you?" someone else questioned.

That was met with a current of chatter, which I tried unsuccessfully to dispel for roughly five minutes.

_No more Mr. Nice Guy._

I whistled sharply and spat into the now dead silence: "Everyone _shut up_."

Eyes widened and I forced a cheery smile. "I'm aware that I'm new and you brats think you can trample all over me," I just can't keep my mouth shut. I winced at my own verbal vomit of honesty. I was too used to controlling platoons of rowdy soldiers, not children. "But I will not allow it. When I say something, I expect you to listen. When I ask a question, I expect it to be answered, with no comments from the peanut gallery. We will raise hands in this classroom. I will not tolerate anything less than what I have laid down now. '_Dura lex sed lex'_: the law is harsh, but it is the law. Is this understood." It wasn't even a question.

"Dude, what's with her outfit?" someone snickered.

I raised my eyebrows at the blatant challenge. "Mr..." I trailed off expectantly, but no one filled in the blank. "If you don't tell me, the whole class shall be punished."

At that, someone coughed inconspicuously: "Allerdyce."

I smirked. So easy for people to turn on one another at the threat of trouble. "Allerdyce, is it? Give me twenty."

The boy, blond with a cocky smirk suggesting that he was class clown, met my gaze evenly. "Make me."

"Mr. Allerdyce, I have served in the military since before this country's revolution. Do you have any idea how the military works?" I crossed my arms as some students gasped. I suppose others didn't know about the Declaration of Independence. It was a good thing I intended to be a thorough teacher. Maybe then they'd be able to marvel at my age.

"Nope," he admitted, crossing his arms in turn.

"Fantastic. Let me show you," I walked up to his desk, put my hands on it and smiled my scariest smile. It's been known to frighten even _Logan_ on occasion.

"When one joins the US military," I glanced about the room, "you lot should be taking notes," I added. Immediately, there was a mad scramble for pens and pencils an paper. Whispers of "Can I borrow _(insert school material here)_" floated around the room.

I cleared my throat, basking in the sudden silence and began again: "When one joins the US military, they swear to obey all lawful orders given to them by a superior officer or the president of the United States. If this oath is broken during war-time, the officer could very well be executed. Tell me, Mr. Allerdyce; do you want to die?" I smirked.

"You can't kill me," John countered, smirking himself.

"Can't I?" I wondered, rubbing my jaw with my left hand. I stripped off the glove for my right and continued. "Now, please note that I said 'lawful' orders. This means that any illegal orders are grounds for disobedience. Can anyone tell me where the justification 'I was only following orders' was largely used?"

Cautiously, a girl in the back of the room raised her hand. I looked up to see Rogue. "Yes, Rogue?"

"The Nuremberg Trials?" she answered, looking a bit scared.

"Correct. Is anyone else familiar with this event?" I questioned, looking a John pointedly. "Ah, yes, Mr. Allerdyce. Please _dazzle_ us with your knowledge."

Snickers followed the statement, but John held fast.

"I don't have to," John stuck out his chin.

"Very well," I shrugged, touching him with my hand. He collapsed in his seat, and his head would have hit the desk had I not caught him and lowered him to the surface. "So, anyone?"

I met the gaping mouths of the students. "Did I stutter?"

A boy sitting near Rogue raised his hand. "Yes, Mr...?"

"Drake," he supplied, swallowing. "Did you kill him?"

"Long or short answer?" I mused. "The short answer is yes." Cries of outrage which I silenced by raising a hand. _Ah, sweet control. _How I have longed for you in the face of such disrespect. Really, though, could anyone blame me for going to such extremes? It was the only way to earn respect anywhere: show power. I believe it's a Freudian concept. "The long answer is that whenever I touch someone with my right hand, they die, and whenever I touch them with my left hand-" here, I yanked off the glove on my left hand, "-the person is brought back to life." I demonstrated by touching John, who jerked straight up.

"Continuing; John, what were the Nuremberg Trials?" I repeated.

"The trials in which the Nazi leaders were convicted and it was determined that it is illegal to follow immoral commands despite them being orders," John responded distantly. It did not escape my notice that he spent the rest of the class period in silence.

"Wonderful. Any questions?"

Hands flew in the air. "You," I called on a girl sitting near Rogue and that Drake boy.

"Kitty Pryde," she told me. "When were you born?"

"Sixteen eighty-four," I said, bored. Didn't they have any more interesting questions?

"What's your name?"

I thought for a second: "Call me Miss Bishop, or ma'am." The reply was flat.

"How are you still alive?"

"It's part of my mutation." Seriously, where were the inquiring, unobvious questions?

"Why are you so bitter?" someone muttered.

"I was hanged and burned when I was eight for witchcraft. Those sorts of events tend to leave marks," I replied easily. That shut everyone up in time for the bell to ring. "Mr. Allerdyce, stay where you are," I told him warningly.

I shut the door behind the last student, then turned to John. "What did you see?" I asked quietly. He didn't even open his mouth, eyes directed at the table. "Nothing," I answered my own question. His eyes shot up to mine. "In death, there is nothing but darkness, like when you close your eyes, except a thousand times worse. You feel as though you might be crushed by the weight of it. You feel helpless and alone, when in reality, it is the opposite; there is something moving in the dark, and you don't know what it is. And that's the scariest part of all."

He nodded slowly. "I thought you couldn't die?"

I shook my head. "I said I was still alive, not that I'd never died. I have died so many times and it's the same each time. The same overwhelming solitude and emptiness. That could very well be what happens, John, when you disobey an order. You could die. There's a war brewing on the horizon, and as an older student, you need to be prepared for it. Listen to my lessons and respect me. The past tends to repeat itself, John, and you would do well to recognise the patterns, especially in war.

"Give me your twenty and then you can go."

He silently completed the push-ups, then picked his books and backpack off his desk before leaving.

**_My office, now_,** came Charles' voice in my head, followed by directions.

I groaned to myself, knowing I'd been out of bounds and I was going to be reprimanded. Unexpectedly, when I reached Charles's office, he was already occupied with Logan. I tried to back away, but I knew Logan, with his heightened instincts, would have noticed me, and Charles could easily go into my head to find out where I was.

"Victoria, come in," Charles beckoned me from my spot at the door. Logan's back was to me and if I'd been expecting him to greet and recognise me (which I had) I was severely disappointed. "Victoria, this is Logan. Logan, this is Victoria."

Logan half-turned in his chair and grunted at me. I deflated slightly. "I would say it's a pleasure to meet you, but I already know you, Logan. Do you not recognise me?" I bit my lip, eyes flitting to Charles.

The effect was instantaneous; Logan all but jumped out of his chair, pinning me to the wall with his left hand around my throat in a fluid motion. His claws came out on his right hand and stopped a millimetre from my eye. If he was looking for me to cower in fear or flinch, he was let down.

One could say I was returning the favour.

"Surprisingly, this isn't the first time we've been in this position," I laughed a little, unconcerned by his actions. He was screwing with me, trying to act like he didn't know me. "How have you been, Logan?"

**_He doesn't remember anything from his life excluding the last fifteen years, _**Charles's voice sounded solemnly in my head. **_Perhaps you can help him._**

"Really?" I shoved Logan away from me, or at least tried to. It's a wonder I didn't recognise him sooner, because he was the heaviest damn bloke I'd ever met. I should've recognised him by weight. "You don't remember the Civil War?"

At his blank expression, I continued. "How about when we met again in Vietnam? That was a fun time."

"Who the hell are you?" Logan snarled. "_What_ are you?"

"A mutant," I answered simply, shrugging my shoulders. "Now move. Or would you care to tempt Fate?" I wriggled my fingers in warning, then realised that he didn't understand what the gesture meant on my part.

Charles cleared his throat, "Speaking of tempting Fate, did you or did you not kill one of my students this morning?"

Logan's eyes shot to me and his hand tightened on my throat enough to cause discomfort and give me a hard time speaking. "I did bring him back to life," I defended myself, choking the words out as I held Logan's gaze unwaveringly.

"Regardless, that was completely unacceptable," Charles scolded me.

"Can you tell the Wolverine to release me?"

Logan scowled at me before moving away from me of his own accord.

"So other than the unfortunate death -and even more unfortunate revival- of Mr. Allerdyce, what are we discussing?" I dropped into the seat next to Logan.

Charles sighed at my impertinence. "You were much more polite the last time I saw you," he commented.

"That was, oh, forty-four years ago, I believe?" I snorted. "I've had time to immature since then."

Charles chuckled at my antics. "I was just telling Logan the purpose of this school, and filling him in on some key points."

"Like what?"

_'Please tell me it's where I can get breakfast.'_

Charles shot a look at me that read 'focus.' "Just the identity of the man who attacked him and Rogue yesterday. It was Sabretooth, a feral like Logan."

I froze, "Did you say 'Sabretooth'?"

Charles's eyebrows drew together. "Yes. Does the name mean something to you?"

"Victor Creed. If you can imagine, I was friends with him," I clutched my head as I felt the beginning of a migraine. "Shouldn't you know that with your mental snooping?"

"I've actively been trying not to go into your head," Charles reminded me. "You were the one who asked that I stay out of it."

"In that case, good show," I told him. "Anyway, I know Sabretooth through you, Logan."

Logan's fingers, which had been tapping impatiently on his thigh, paused."What do you know about me?"

I pushed my fingers to my temples, massaging them. "Can I get back to you on that? I'm going to have to go sifting through my head for everything, most likely with Chaz's help. Too many memories up here, makes remembering a bitch."

"Just tell us what you immediately know," Charles coaxed. I could feel him in my head again, controlling the flow of information to something more gradual and far less overwhelming. "From the top of your head."

Images of bodies littering the street and blood staining the pavement flew to the forefront of my thoughts. _Cities burned and armies raged through the countryside, Americans fighting Americans. Logan and I running through the streets, trying to evacuate citizens, innocents, that had been caught in the cross-fire._

I shook myself briefly out of it in order to answer: "I met you during the Civil War. We fought for the Union. You found out straightaway that I was a female because you could smell it on me, although I didn't learn that until later. I swore you to secrecy. You introduced me to Victor -that is to say, Sabretooth- but you didn't tell me how you knew him."

"I didn't find out about your mutation until I met you again in Vietnam. I was Brigadier General and you helped me cover up the fact that I was a woman. That's when we found out about each other's mutations." I thought for a second, then added mischievously, "I also happen to know that you like a good cigar."

_I could taste sweat and rain and see Logan's bone claws tearing through the thick foliage_.

_"Dammit, Bishop, get down!" Logan growled, his body slamming into mine as a grenade exploded behind us. We rolled and rolled and it felt like we were never going to stop, until we did, thanks to a rock. Logan was on top of me, both of us out of breath, too exhausted to move._

_"Logan, can't breathe, geroff me," I managed to gasp, shoving at him. He rolled to my right immediately, then rose to his feet tiredly. Still, I admired his comparative vigour._

_"We can't stay here," he warned, sniffing the air absentmindedly. "The Vietcong are coming this way."_

_"Fuck," I muttered, taking his hand to stand. "When this is done, you owe me a fucking cigar, Logan."_

_He gave me a lazy, shit-eating grin, "Nah-uh, sweetheart, you owe me one first for saving your sorry arse."_

_"Nice to see you again too, Victor!" I called into the open air, seeing Creed come out from behind a tree, sniggering._

"How close were you to Logan?" the professor asked, snapping me out of it again. It was almost like Logan wasn't in the room, but for the ghosts of my past.

Speaking of, at that moment I met Logan's eyes. He searched mine, frowning at what he found there. How did I put this? Logan was not the sort to make many friends. I may have considered him one, but who knows what he thought, even then. Then there was the fact that I was very, very attracted to him. That didn't help anything.

"I'd say we were friends, but you're a very private man," I decided on. "It was always hard to tell what you were thinking and I got the feeling you weren't a people person." _Understatement of the century. _"I don't know how old you are, only that you're younger than me."

"Great, so he's anywhere between three hundred twenty and one hundred twenty five," Charles said. "At least we have a general idea."

_'You're assuming that he was at least eighteen when he joined the army?'_ I thought.

Charles nodded at me in confirmation.

"Not much of a lead, really; towns are notoriously awful at record-keeping in that time period. When I was born, my name was simply written on the town's register. My birth certificate was buried with me. If they can pull shit like that, who's to say what happened to the register? Not to mention, you're assuming he's American. What if he's Canadian? English?" I mused, leaning back in the seat and crossing my legs.

Both of then were staring at me.

"What?" I asked.

"Buried?" Logan questioned at the same time Charles muttered: "Back to square one."

I ignored Charles. "Yup. Buried. After I was hanged. For witchcraft."

"The way you go around talking about your death like you don't care is disconcerting, Victoria," Charles sent me a worried look. "If you need to tal-"

"It's been three hundred twelve years since it happened. You'd think I'd have talked to a psychiatrist by now," I muttered. "It's not a big deal, Chaz. Things happen."

"I disagree," Charles said adamantly. "It's not every day and eight year old girl accidentally kills her mother, brings her mother back to life, is accused of witchcraft by her father, put on trial, and hanged. Then wakes up a few hours later, having been buried alive, digs her way out of her own grave and is so convinced that she's a witch she goes to the judge who sentenced her to death and tells him it's God's will that she be purified of her sins. Which consists of being burned on a cross."

I'd never told anyone the whole story. Not even Logan, who would've been my first and only choice.

"You forgot the 'and her ashes scattered in the ocean' bit. Also; I blame the water. There was probably something in it. You know how well water is, very likely to contain arsenic," I drawled, biting my lip anxiously. "Oh, and I hope you don't go 'round spilling people's very private pasts to just anyone. I was saving the whole story for someone special." There was no real bite to the remark, even though I was a bit angry. I mean, if I was going to tell anyone the whole story, it would definitely be Logan, but I would've preferred that he have his memories first.

Charles just shook his head at me.

"Witchcraft?" Logan asked, brows raised.

"Salem," I said, turning my eyes to the window. It was sunny, but I could feel a storm brewing on the horizon. What had happened yesterday with Logan and Rogue wasn't coincidental. It was only the beginning.

* * *

"Hey, Chaz?" I said suddenly, interrupting his speech on the school which I should have been listening to.

"Yes, Victoria?" he looked at me nervously, like my mind was a fragile thing and he needed to walk on eggshells around me.

"What happened to Erik? Your friend in Central Park that day, when you tried to recruit me for your mutanist cult," my eyebrows furrowed as I wondered why I hadn't been reintroduced to the man who had moved a chess piece in front of me with his mind so many years ago. "Did your bromance fall apart?"

Logan laughed a bit at my phrasing.

"He's known as Magneto now," Charles said solemnly. "He's the one who sent Sabretooth after Logan and Rogue."

"Well, shit," I murmured. "Must've been one hell of a break-up."

If I had known that the "break-up" had put Charles in a wheelchair (accidentally, of course), I probably would've been more sensitive in my quip.

* * *

After Charles finished filling us in on the importance of the school, he gave us a tour. I wondered why the others were having the bloke in the wheelchair show us around, but I assumed that they must have classes.

I had a horrible feeling, upon the conclusion of the tour, that I was going to be hopelessly lost. Logan, I knew, would have no such problem- he was way too damn good with directions.

Charles left us in the kitchen and I busied myself pouring some cereal into a bowl. As embarrassing as it was, I had never managed to not burn any food I tried to cook. Despite all of my scientific experiments, I was an absolute failure in the kitchen.

Logan surprised me by finding a frying pan, eggs, onions and peppers and making himself an omelette. I watched his hands as he worked; strong, calloused, big hands that moved swiftly, surely. He had long fingers. Nice, dexterous hands, capable of ripping my throat out or caressing me.

_"How do you always manage to get dirt all over your face?" I asked Logan, snickering at him as he, Victor and I sat around our designated campfire. We were awaiting orders from Lincoln right now and our reluctant leader, General Ambrose Burnside, was allowing us a break as he awaited a telegram. I say "reluctant" because General Burnside took this position partially due to a dislike of who was next in the chain of command if he refused._

_"It's a talent," Victor said proudly, clapping Logan on the back. I smiled at the interaction- the two were such great friends. I had to wonder how long they'd known each other. "One that you seem to share in, Bishop," he gestured vaguely toward my left cheek._

_"I blame Logan," I shrugged, ignoring his glare._

_"I wouldn't anger him," Victor teased, then said in a sing-song: "Remember what _we know_."_

_My smile faded. "You wouldn't dare."_

_Logan smirked: "Hey!" he called everyone to attention. I sat, frozen. For such a small remark, really? "Bishop has something he'd like to share!"  
_

_Victor promptly shoved me to my feet. "I was just saying that I hope the Potomac receives orders soon," I recovered anticlimactically. _Sons of bitches, when I got my hands around the two of their necks...

_"Cheers to that!" someone shouted, and glasses were raised. Were they honestly happy to be killing fellow Americans? None of this felt right..._

_Our next orders were to seize Richmond, Virginia. The Battle of Fredericksburg. So many unnecessary lives were wasted that day._

When Logan noticed that I was blatantly staring at him, he grumbled: "What?"

"Didn't know you could cook," I replied, shrugging. "I never pictured you doing anything so... domestic."

Logan gave me a strange look.

"You'll have to understand that I've never seen you outside a wartime setting," I reminded him.

Except for that one time...

I deliberately pulled my thoughts in a different direction. "Anyway," I checked my pocket watch, seeing that I still had an hour and a half until my next class. "I'm going to see how fast I can get lost around here. If my students say that their teacher is missing, please come find me."

Logan snorted. "You have such a way with words, Victory."

I whirled, the name striking a chord. Did he remember something? "What did you call me?" I choked out, staring at him with wide eyes.

"'Victory'," he repeated, unconcerned, flipping his omelette. He didn't even look up. When I said nothing, he explained: "I hate 'Victoria' and it fits."

I bit my lip. "You don't know anything about me," I finally said angrily. It wasn't the same when he called me that. He didn't know the meaning behind it. He had no idea why he had called me that and had no right to do so now when he didn't remember me.

His eyes met mine, "I have a feeling I know more about you than even Wheels, but it's buried right now," he said shrewdly. He turned the burner off and stalked towards me, brandishing the turner at me. "When I remember, though, I'm going to find out what crawled up your arse and died."

I opened and closed my mouth as he spun on his heel, sliding his omelette onto his plate. I could feel his eyes following me as I marched indignantly out of the room, and God help me if I didn't sway my hips more than usual.


	4. Arc One: Broken Memories: Chapter 4

Ancient History 4

Onesmartcookie78

**A/N**: The Salem witch trials (as well as the others that occurred in England, Wales, Scotland and wherever else) were wrong and I do not condone them in any way. My character, Victoria Bishop, is based off a woman hanged for witchcraft with the same last name. The part where she says that she does not know what a witch is and the judge responds that if she does not know, how does she know that she is not one? actually happened in real life.

Please note that I am trying to be as historically accurate as possible in this story; the historical events mentioned have been extensively researched.

Also; Erik's last name, "Lensherr" is mistakenly spelt that way in the movie. I will be spelling it properly, "Lehnsherr", with an h.

Lastly, Victoria gives nicknames. Cyclops is "Shades" and Storm is "Moneypenny". This is a dig at how Ororo answers the phone at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, causing Victoria to believe her a receptionist. It's also amusing because Halle Berry, who plays Storm, is a Bond Girl in Die Another Day. Jean Grey is "Mary Jane" because she has red hair. This name is taken under the pretence that Spiderman does not exist in the Marvel-universe.

**And thanks so much to all my reviewers!**

**Summary**: Victoria Bishop was born in the 1600s, so how is she still running around in the twenty-first century? With a deadly power, it's no wonder Xavier and Magneto want her for a weapon. Set during X-Men. Logan/OC.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the X-Men (although I really wish I owned at least Wolverine), only Victoria and any other OCs mentioned.

* * *

_"When we are tired, we are attacked by ideas we conquered long ago."_

–Friedrich Nietzsche

_"The past is never dead. It's not even past."_

– William Faulkner,_ Requiem for a Nun_

_"No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path."_

– Gautama Buddha, _Sayings of Buddha_

* * *

**April 3, 2004**

I followed hallways where they would take me, keeping track of my turns in a bid to refrain from losing myself hopelessly in the maze. I soon got confused, unable to think backwards when I tried to retrace my steps. I checked my pocket watch and found that my next class started in five minutes.

"Shit," I hissed. I was distracted by the time and tripped over a loose floorboard. I recovered, but something made me pause:

A loose floorboard?

I dropped to my knees and examined the offending object. I didn't exactly have the time for it, but something about it had really caught my attention and I was hopelessly lost anyway. Might as well look now, since I would probably never be able to find my way back.

I shifted the floorboard back in place and heard a mechanical click. My head swung to the left and I saw that a picture of a bird in flight had slid to the left.

_'I've read too many Nancy Drew books.'_

I sighed and took out my pocket notebook and pen. The things one can shove down their shirt when they're female. Always be prepared.

I drew a picture of the loose floorboard, and an arrow indicating that it needed to be pushed into place. I drew an asterisk and wrote in cursive 'click' then closed the onomatopoeia with another asterisk. I drew a followup arrow depicting the bird painting and its skew to the left.

Finally, I put the picture back in order, but nothing happened. I frowned, running my fingers over the engravings on the frame. I found one that I could push and did so- the wall moved to reveal a secret passageway and the floorboard popped up again. I indicated on my map the approximate location of the button and wrote 'push', then stepped through the door.

Instantly, my claustrophobic mind regretted the decision.

As if it could sense that I had walked in, the door slammed shut of its own accord behind me. I jumped at the unexpected turn of events as I was sealed in the darkness. My breath came out in pants as I pushed frantically on the wall, trying to get out. But I couldn't. I was trapped.

I could feel my heart racing like I'd just run a marathon, because it was suddenly too small and too dark and there was no way out.

* * *

**December 31, 1692**

_Stuck in a coffin. Confusion, uncertainty._

I know I'm not a witch.

_Recall cheers from crowd, chants of _"Witch!"_, jeering. Food is thrown as they tie the knot binding me to my imminent hanging._

"She's a witch! Hang her now, before she kills us all!"

But I'm not! I didn't mean to kill her! Mum, dad, tell them!

_Dad is dragging mum away, assuring her that the townsfolk are doing the right thing._

Don't believe him, mum! I didn't mean to! Please forgive me! I'm not a witch!

_The wood shifts under my feet until it's replaced with air. __I'm free falling and I know these will be my last few moments of living. I want to cry, but there's no time, only pain in my neck and the roar of the crowd as the rope fails to immediately snap my neck. Suffocation._

_The crowd riots:_ "The witch is dead! Woohoo!"_ they all champion the executor. They're sick, bloodthirsty. Afraid of the unknown, of what could be._

_But that's what happened before, so what's happening now? __The answer is simple: I'm not dead. I'm alive._

My Lord must want me to be purified by flames. My death must have disgraced him.

_Frenetic beating against the wood does nothing at_ _first_.

It's so very small in here, let me out!

_Slowly, the few inches of dirt covering my grave start to give._

Please! Let me out, I'm dying in here all over again! This isn't the way God wants me to die!

_They didn't bury me deeply at all, but there's no air and my arms are so weak and my neck hurts and it's so very hard to move._

I'm not a witch!

_My thoughts are jumbled._

_I can still recall the crowd shouting:_"Witch, witch, she's a witch!"

_Just want to escape the darkness. It's all around me. I can't get out. I'm choking all over again. I'm gasping for air that's never going to come when, suddenly, I make headway. But it's just as dark outside as it is underground. I cry._

* * *

I somehow shook myself out of the memory that haunts my dreams after a venture into an enclosed space and took calming breaths as I stuck my head between my knees. My eyes closed, but the darkness wasn't going to go away (it never would) and inside my head felt too small. Not to mention I kept seeing flashes of flames licking at an eight year old's body, charring flesh and-

I shivered at the cold and reached out to touch the wall. The tangibility grounded me in a way, even though it was damp and slick with moisture. I pulled my hand back, then realised that I didn't have a torch, so the wall would have to guide me anyway.

I crinkled my nose as I edged along. It was slow going and I tripped more than a few times. Ten minutes later, I had to stop because I hit a wall. '_Thank goodness, I can finally get out.'_ Figuring I'd reached the end (and hoping that the passage hadn't branched off on the other side), I felt along the wall for something, anything, that would get me out.

Oh, God, what if there was not way out?

My left hand connected desperately with a crack in the wall and I traced it, hoping it would lead to a way out. _'I need to get out, now!'_ At the bottom of the wall, the crack branched off. I kept my left hand on the main crack and traced each of the lines until I found a button. Sighing in relief, I hit it and the wall slid up.

I pushed my way out to find that I was in the kitchen. I took a lungful of fresh air, coughing from the wet, heavy air of the secret passage way. I checked my watch; there were still twenty minutes of my class period left. I cursed and half-ran down the hallway, scribbling that the passage lead to the kitchen. Maybe I could activate it from the kitchen side as well?

As I was writing, I crashed into a wall. I fell, but the wall caught me. Definitely not a wall. Logan stood in front of me, raising an eyebrow.

"What are you doing? You smell," he paused, looking for the right word, "damp."

I raised both of my eyebrows at him, waiting for the innuendo to catch up with his brain.

He just smirked. So he'd meant it as a double entendre.

"I was crawling around in a secret passageway. I like being on my knees," I said, stepping past him and practically running away. I wasn't nervous or anything, I just needed to go teach a lesson. Of this, I swear.

When I reached my classroom, it wasn't the chaos I'd imagined it might be. No one was swinging from the lights, there was no orgy, and no one had set anything on fire. They were just calmly sitting in their seats and talking. I must have made an impression earlier.

"This is English class, yes?" I asked, sitting at my desk and crossing my legs. "Everyone take out a book and read. Do homework if you want. Just read and stay silent." And with that, I pulled out my Nancy Drew novel to see if there was any other way to find a secret passage.

When classes for the day were over, Charles called all of us to the lab. He asked Jean and I to conduct a biopsy (okay, I'm exaggerating; he just wanted X-rays and a blood sample study) on Logan. Jean agreed immediately and looked at me almost as though she was daring me to accept.

Slowly, I nodded and was questioned by Mary Jane and Logan on if I was qualified to be doing the sort of work I would be on him.

"Honey," I told Mary Jane sweetly, "I have gone to college more years than you have been alive. I have studied more than you ever will and know enough about anatomy that I dissected myself. I think I know a thing or two about drawing blood and taking pictures utilising a machine that conducts-"

From the look on her face, I should've added a "could" in front of "dissect". Dammit. Maybe next time.

"She's dissected herself?" Mary Jane's voice raised fractionally. "She's clearly unstable, professor; you can't let her-"

"I trust Victoria," Charles defended me. "She has a masters in physics, biology, and anatomy as well as PHDs. She did a residency with a renowned surgeon a few years ago. She's more than experienced."

"She just admitted that she's basically experimented on herself-"

"I actually never said that, though now that you mention it..." I mused, enjoying making Mary Jane angry. Maybe it was because of how she looked at Logan, but the way others had interacted with him had never bothered me before.

"Did you or did you not?" Mary Jane whirled on me, face flushed.

"It was a dark time and science had advanced so much," I shrugged. It wasn't that big of a deal, was it? I hand't done anything _I _felt uncomfortable with, and that was all that mattered, right? I could still look at myself in the mirror and not turn away after a minute; granted, it was with a certain wretched mix of disgust, guilt, and self-loathing– though I didn't know how to name the feelings when I searched my reflection; I only knew that I felt an inescapable, undefinable _something_ that was capable of making me feel sick to my very bones. But I could still sleep at night. Why should it bother them, then?

"In fact," I added with a measure of blatant amusement, "That's how I found out I was a mutant, actually– and that the appendix doesn't actually do anything in humans. I want to run that one again, though," I mused. "Logan, you game?"

Everyone looked at me like I was stark-raving mad.

"Are you telling me," Mary Jane said slowly, "that you removed your own appendix?"

"I was testing a theory," I answered, crossing my arms over my chest.

"What sort of theory could possibly involve an appendectomy!?" she shrieked.

Logan winced at the volume.

"The discovery that whenever I die, someone dies in my place. Before I slit my wrists that one time to find out how much blood a human can lose before dying-"

"You did what?" Charles looked very upset by now, and so did everyone else.

I blundered on, "-I had died relatively normal deaths for the time period. Hanged for witchcraft, burned for witchcraft, murdered in a mugging. Those were not uncommon things to die from.

"But in a small town where everyone insists that the victim was happy and had no reason to commit suicide? Well, I got suspicious. So I had to make my death something really strange. I was curious to see the purpose of the appendix anyway, but was disappointed when it didn't work; I had lived.

"I found out later that when I die, someone else dies in my place. A life for a life, as it were," I finished.

There was dead quiet.

"How did you find that out?" Scott questioned softly, like he was afraid of the answer.

Charles put his face in his hands.

I stood still for a moment. I had brought it up. It was only fair that I end it. I always did. I bit my lip, "I buried myself alive, and when I woke up a few deaths later after fighting my way out of the ground, I found out that a group of three or four women had done the same." I closed my eyes. "Like I said, a very dark time for me.

"Now are we going to do this or not?" I met Charles's eyes, practically begging him to allow me to. I looked to Mary Jane next, but no love was won there; her eyes were hard, accusing, and a little scared. I flicked over to Scott, but he was hard to read. Next to Ororo, who seemed to think I was an abused puppy. I wanted desperately to snort.

Finally, I connected with Logan. He wore no expression, just seemed to be examining me for all I was worth, like I was the one under the microscope. Whatever he found seemed to satiate him, because he nodded to me, granting me permission.

"If I trust you and Logan does," Charles snapped Logan and me out of our staring contest, "then I see no problem with it. So long as you have his approval, in fact, I will allow you to conduct any tests you see fit."

I smiled gratefully at the pair of them, and Logan smirked a bit back. I was fairly certain he was incapable of actually smiling, so I left him alone.

Mary Jane scoffed, "I refuse to work with her," she proclaimed, the finality in her tone evident; we had all made our decisions and she had made hers.

"Fine, then," I conceded. "If Logan's alright with it, we can conduct separate tests on him and compile the data. Who knows, maybe we'll be able to find more that way," I said diplomatically, looking to her for a response. "How does that sound?"

Mary Jane sniffed, but agreed. "Who goes first?"

"Flip a goddamn coin," Logan growled, fed up with our passive-aggressive behaviour, "before I decide I don't want you sticking things in me any more."

"I'm pretty sure it's the other way 'round," I mumbled quietly enough that only he could hear. Logan's eyes shot to me and he raised an eyebrow in amusement. "You can have dibs first, Mary Jane," I told her, shrugging. "I don't mind waiting. I have all the time in the world."

"It's 'Jean'," she corrected me, pulling on her lab coat.

Oh, right, I hadn't told her the nickname I'd come up with yet.

"I know, but I give everyone nicknames," I explained. "It's just the red hair... you've never seen the _Spiderman_ movie, have you?"

Mary Jane looked at me blankly, and I swept my eyes over the room. Ororo gave me a thumbs-up and winked. I knew she had good taste in movies! Scott just shrugged and Logan nodded slightly, as though he understood-maybe-okay-only-a-little-bit-alright-not-at-all.

I cleared my throat, "Go on then, Mary Jane, whilst I'm still relatively young."

Ororo coughed to hide her laughter and shifted to stand next to me whilst Mary Jane huffed and pulled Logan into the lab. "Victoria, we've got to have a movie marathon one time," she put her hand gently on my arm and squeezed. "And don't let Jean get to you," she dropped her voice so that Scott couldn't hear, "she's just jealous that you and Logan have history and she's attracted to him."

I groaned, "I thought I was the only one who noticed that she all but dropped to her knees and begged for him to-"

Ororo laughed. "Shush! She's engaged to Scott, she would never do that!"

"That's certainly not how it looked," I grumbled, biting my lip.

Ororo hesitated, her brown eyes reluctant. "Were you and Logan ever-?"

"No," I said quickly, then laughed reassuringly. "No. Whenever I met him though, I would have his undivided attention. He's hard to win over, but once you do, he's fiercely loyal. During the Civil War, he decided he could trust me, at least in a combat setting, and he protected my secret. When we met again in Vietnam and confessed our mutations, he was once again a constant at my side.

"That's why I'm jealous; whenever I see him, I'm used to him being practically attached to my hip and ready to rip apart anyone who finds out something about me that they shouldn't," I assured her.

Ororo squeezed my arm again. "How much does it hurt that he doesn't remember?"

Her words hit me like a truck.

* * *

**January 13, 1975**

_"If you see me, don't be a stranger," I pleaded as Logan and Victor packed their stuff. They had killed a high-ranking officer, though I didn't know much about it; rumour had it from the chain of command that the officer had been on our side, but it was also said he was the enemy. Either way, the Wolverine and Sabretooth were due to be executed via firing squad. Fortunately, no one but me knew their little party tricks._

_Logan turned to me as he slung his pack over his soldier. "Only if you stop going to war and posing as a man so that I don't need to save your sorry arse," he smirked, leaning closer mischievously to murmur in my ear: "it's a nice arse, though."_

_I laughed with him and hugged him. He immediately stiffened, seeming awkward, before his hands came up to close around me. "Take care, Logan," I reminded him, kissing him on the cheek._

_I turned to leave, only for Logan to grab my arm, swing me around, slam me into a tree and slant his mouth heatedly over mine. I shivered, breathing in the taste of Logan and memorising the feel of him as he kissed me fervently, desperately, like he would never see me again. And who knows; the world is large and it was possible that the two of us wouldn't meet again for centuries._

Which would be why he's kissing you like you're water and he's a man in the desert.

_His right hand came to rest to the left of my head, his left hand on my hip. His tongue found its way into my mouth and I tangled my fingers in his hair, murmuring his name._

_He pulled back fractionally, allowing his eyes to connect with mine for a second. His blue-grey eyes, flecked with gold that I'd never noticed, glowed in the dimming light. His mouth lingered from my skin long enough for me to see the desire in his orbs before his lips found the pulse humming on my neck._

_He smelt like the rain, gunpowder and the woods, similar to me and everyone else stationed here, as well as something masculine and just plain Logan. His lips on mine were electric and shivers went down my spine. I bit his lip and he growled in return, pressing against me further._

_"Logan, let's go. We don't want to keep our executioners waiting," Sabretooth drawled in a creepy sing-song voice._

_Logan rested his forehead on mine, his blue-grey eyes scrutinising my face. His lips brushed against mine again and then my forehead. "I'll see you later," he promised (or at least, I hoped he did), as he stalked away. He never once looked back._

* * *

Maybe I had lied to Ororo a bit. But I'd hardly consider one good snog to be "a thing". Nor did my thoughts often stray towards that memory, which is also a lie.

"It hurts more than you can imagine. It feels as though he ripped the still-beating heart from my chest and had his fun tearing it to shreds. Then, to add insult to injury, Mary Jane stopped by in her stilettos and happened to curb stomp it a few times," I confessed softly.

Ororo didn't try to console me with false words, "Girl, tonight we are watching whatever movie you want to with some of your favourite ice cream."

I grinned at her; this was the type of female friend I wanted.

* * *

A few hours later, I was snapping latex gloves on my hands as I hovered over Logan. His eyes were shut, though they popped open when he felt my gaze on him. After staring at each other silently for a few minutes, he grumbled: "If you have something to say, say it."

I hesitated, taking the second to plunge the needle in his arm in order to draw blood. "It's nothing, just... thank you for trusting me." I turned to get another phial off the prep-tray, setting the filled one down. The action was carefully timed so that he couldn't see my face. "You reacted in my favour despite my..." I swallowed thickly. _Horror stories._ "-revelations."

The hand of the arm I wasn't drawing blood from caught my fingers as I went to screw the second phial into place, diverting my gaze to his eyes. There was a deeper understanding in them than I would've thought he'd get out of my remark- he knew that his trust meant more to me than the blind trust of a stranger. Because I knew him, even if he didn't remember me right now. His perceptiveness surprised me.

"I don't know how far this trust you gift me with extends, so let me know when I cross a line." I gestured for him to follow me so I could take X-rays, "Which I might do in a second," I breathed as I saw his skeleton. Every inch of it was coated in adamantium. I could guess due to the shine of the metal, but there was only one way to tell. "Logan, how do you feel about diamonds?"

Logan's eyebrows shot up, "Depends- what do you plan on doing with them?"

"Nothing damaging," I said hastily, reaching for a diamond edged scalpel that I'd bought a while back. I'd gotten a matching pair during my brief stint as a thief a few years ago. "Just... adamantium, supposedly the strongest substance on earth, has been surgically grafted over your whole skeleton. Stick out your claws for me?" I asked, stepping closer.

Logan eyed the scalpel wearily before meeting my gaze. I gave him a charming smile and he sighed, letting the claws shoot out of his right hand. I gestured for him to move closer to me, knowing he wanted to feel like he was in control with the dangerous claws he had out. He rolled his eyes, taking measured steps towards me. I held out my left hand and motioned for him to put his right in mine.

I didn't look up to see the speculative, exasperated expression on his face. I knew it was there though. When his hand landed on mine, electricity surged through my body. I fought to keep the attraction in check, knowing he'd smell it, but he said nothing if he did.

I lowered the scalpel to his claw (how had it escaped my notice earlier in Xavier's office that his bone claws had turned into metal?) and carefully sliced at it. The blade of my scalpel promptly snapped in half.

"Son of a bitch!" I hissed.

Logan, who hadn't been paying attention, retracted his claws and jumped away from me like I'd burned him before snatching both my hands up, causing me to drop the scalpel. I caught my breath sharply in response, then realised he was looking to see if I'd cut myself.

I laughed a bit, "The scalpel broke in half, Logan, I didn't-"

"Yes you did," he held my left hand up in front of face, showing me a bit of blood.

"Oh," I relaxed. "It's nothing. Anyway, that confirms that it's adamantium."

"Jean didn't talk while we were doing this," Logan muttered.

"Just letting you know my findings," I bristled at being compared to the redhead, and Logan noticed, but didn't comment. "Now take your shirt off, I want to run a few more tests."


	5. Arc One: Broken Memories: Chapter 5

Ancient History

Onesmartcookie78

**A/N**: The Salem witch trials (as well as the others that occurred in England, Wales, Scotland and wherever else) were wrong and I do not condone them in any way. My character, Victoria Bishop, is based off a woman hanged for witchcraft with the same last name. The part where she says that she does not know what a witch is and the judge responds that if she does not know, how does she know that she is not one? actually happened in real life.

Please note that I am trying to be as historically accurate as possible in this story; the historical events mentioned have been extensively researched.

Also; Erik's last name, "Lensherr" is mistakenly spelt that way in the movie. I will be spelling it properly, "Lehnsherr", with an _h_.

Lastly, Victoria gives nicknames. Cyclops is "Shades" and Storm is "Moneypenny". This is a dig at how Ororo answers the phone at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, causing Victoria to believe her a receptionist. It's also amusing because Halle Berry, who plays Storm, is a Bond Girl in _Die Another Day_. Jean Grey is "Mary Jane" because she has red hair. This name is taken under the pretense that Spiderman does not exist in the Marvel-universe,

**Summary**: Victoria Bishop was born in the 1600s, so how is she still running around in the twenty-first century? With a deadly power, it's no wonder Xavier and Magneto want her for a weapon. Set during _X-Men_. Logan/OC.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the X-Men (although I really wish I owned at least Wolverine), only Victoria and any other OCs mentioned.

**INCLUDES DEATH, MENTIONS OF SELF-MUTILATION, AND WOLVERINE HOTNESS.**

* * *

_"'Does it hurt?' The childish question had escaped Harry's lips before he could stop it. _

_'Dying? Not at all,' said Sirius. 'Quicker and easier than falling asleep.'"_

– J.K. Rowling's _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_

* * *

_"Don't feel bad, I'm usually about to die."_

– Rick Riordan's _The Battle of the Labyrinth_

* * *

**April 3, 2004**

Mary Jane gestured to the X-rays hung up behind her: "-it's been grafted to his entire skeleton."

I hadn't been paying attention. I could've told them that before Mary Jane did her oh-so-important experiments. Logan had, after all, tried to kill me with his claws earlier today. Really, all she'd succeeded in doing was "finding" a whole bunch of information that I already knew. I didn't know what the point of her "tests" had been if her discoveries were so inconsequential.

"-he could be older than you, Professor," Mary Jane concluded.

I rolled my eyes, "I've known him since the Civil War- of course he is!" I looked at her like she was stupid.

Mary Jane bristled, "I wasn't aware-"

"That's because you don't bother to listen to me if it doesn't suit your immediate," _sexual_, "interests." I didn't bother to keep the resentful tone out of my voice. Charles was already well aware of how I felt, simply because he could get inside my head; Logan could smell it; Mary Jane wasn't an idiot; and good ol' Ororo had actually asked me, like a nice person.

Scott was the only one oblivious to my hatred.

Or was it jealousy?

I shook the thought away.

And there was a reason Mary Jane held onto Logan's every word, and it was not the same "he's my mentor" mentality she had for Charles. It was because she was shamelessly attracted to -no, falling in love with- Logan, despite being engaged to or dating Scott. I didn't really care which one it was, only that she was going to crush the poor bloke's feelings because she didn't know how to keep it in her pants.

"I'm sorry, Chaz," I looked at him for the first time since my outburst; I could see the disappointment colouring his eyes,"but I can't do this. It's a complete waste of time. None of the data either of us has discovered is 'new', and the only thing I have to add to Mary Jane's lecture is that it could be possible to cure cancer through Logan's blood."

"That's-" Scott started, voice incredulous.

"-incredible," Ororo breathed.

"-worth looking into," added Charles.

"-ridiculous," Mary Jane said flatly.

Logan didn't even open his mouth.

I glared at Mary Jane, but refused to speak to her. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in the lab. Moneypenny, I'm taking you up on movie night, but how about tomorrow, okay?"

"Wait!" called Charles before I could leave.

I sighed- so close. I didn't bother to turn around, "Yes?"

"What do you think Magneto wants with him?" Charles questioned.

"'Magneto'?" I repeated, unsure. "Oh, you mean Erik bitch-I-play-chess-with-my-mind Lehnsherr, your boyfriend. Well, Logan's made of metal, and he can control metal. Is it a leap to say that he could control Logan? No. But what if Logan was simply in the way of his real target?

"If Logan were a chess piece, for Erik, he'd be a pawn; easy to manipulate; decently replaceable– ferals aren't uncommon, and he's always got Sabretooth.

"Rogue... Rogue, on the other hand, is a game changer; she's powerful, unpredictable, and can be moved in any direction. She's the queen, and whoever takes the queen gets the board. Rogue is the most valuable piece..." I trailed off, lost in thought.

Suddenly things clicked into place- Logan had existed for longer than Erik. If Erik had wanted Logan, he could have obtained him long ago- Logan had known Sabretooth and Sabretooth worked for Erik. Rogue? Rogue was new, shiny. And Erik liked shiny. She had just discovered her powers and Logan had just so happened to be in the way. Capturing both of them would have been icing on the cake, but taking Rogue had been the objective all along.

"Don't let Rogue out of your sight," I ordered, spinning around suddenly. I had interrupted whatever the group had been saying, but what I was telling them was much more imperative. "He wants her, Erik... I don't know why, but it has something to do with the fact that she can absorb other mutants' powers, and I don't need to tell you, Chaz, that we won't like whatever he's planning. Just... keep her safe. She's the key."

All of them stared at me, but my eyes sought Logan's. He returned my gaze solemnly; I knew he could be trusted to look after the teen, and so did he. He nodded just the slightest bit at me, and I felt some of the tension leave my muscles. I hand't even noticed how stiff I was until the rigidity was gone.

"We will," Ororo promised me sadly. From the poignant look in her eyes, she had watched Logan and I closely just then. Her expression was placid, but inquiring. I gave her a look that hopefully conveyed the short message "later" and left.

* * *

An hour later, I sat in the lab examining a blood sample I'd taken from Logan under the microscope. I'd also managed to extract some of my own blood for comparison. I could see nothing wrong with his blood; in fact, his HDL levels were high, which was good.

So, I went about preparing the tissue samples I'd taken from him and myself (careful to label them) for DNA extraction. They wouldn't be ready for at least another twelve hours, which I was grateful for; I could tell the less scientifically inclined that they needed to be dealt with in exactly twelve hours and needed constant monitoring. That way, I could have an excuse not to go to dinner whilst simultaneously avoiding awkward conversation.

It also gave me an excuse not to sleep- after my dream last night and the flashback today, I really wasn't looking to hit my R.E.M. cycle. I resolved to take a short nap late at night when everyone was guaranteed to be in bed.

So, I sat in the lab, preparing the tissues in their test tubes for DNA extraction. The process took me fifteen minutes total, after which I put them in the refrigerator at a controlled temperature. Unsure of how to occupy myself with the beautiful lab equipment, I sat there thinking for a while.

What could I do for twelve hours in the lab? The equipment was better than anything I'd ever had, but I'd sworn off full-on experimentation. The last time I'd done it, I had died painfully a few weeks later from infection. So no more sawing off body parts and seeing where I could get away with sewing them back to.

That was a really long time ago though, back when I fancied myself a regular Frankenstein.

Actually, it might have been shortly after the book was released.

Years tend to blend together.

I also had a feeling that Charles would be unhappy if I did another one of my tests (I wasn't kidding about re-testing the appendix theory) and I wasn't willing to sacrifice my well-being for extensive surgery when I could _smell _war in the air. I wasn't stupid, despite popular belief.

Well, everything would be alright if I did something that would kill me. Some innocent bastard would die for me though. A woman of the age to be married with kids. I shook my head at the uninvited thoughts. I didn't want to think about it; that would be inviting nightmares.

The thoughts of what I could do that would kill me flashed through my head, unbidden. Can the phrase "running around like a chicken with its head cut off" (which they do, in fact, do) apply to a human? That was one that I'd need help for though, and would require an axe. Next came my theory on-

No. I couldn't.

But the mechanics of it were fascinating!

I forced thoughts of purposely drowning or suffocating myself in order to count how many brain cells were lost in each of the practices away.

I settled for injecting tracers in my system so that the next time I died, I could see how my cells repaired themselves. Then, I took out a sheet of paper and peered at Logan's blood under the microscope to figure out how to make a cure for cancer out of it.

* * *

**April 4, 2004**

Around midnight, I forced myself out of the lab (where half-finished mathematics detailing how to cure to cancer lay on the table) and into my room. I was changing into a nightgown, the white kind that they sacrifice virgins in, when a noise from the wall to my left distracted me. Curious, I padded barefoot into the hallway and went to the door next to mine.

Rogue was hesitating at the doorway and I got a bad taste in my mouth. There was only one person she trusted enough to check on in the middle of the night, and only one person who had the right to have nightmares so terrible.

"Rogue!" I whispered fiercely as she fingered the doorknob.

The poor blond moved her hand from the knob so suddenly, you'd have thought it shocked her. "I wasn't trying to-"

"I know," I put a hand on her shoulder, making sure not to touch the skin. She flinched slightly still and I realised that I wasn't wearing my own gloves. "It requires skin-to-skin contact, too, Rogue," I told her blandly. "Now let's see if we can help him."

Rogue nodded, opening the door. We shifted quietly to Logan's bed, hearing his pained moans and seeing him tossing violently, his sheets twisted around him.

"Whatever you do, do not touch him," I warned her softly, eyeing his shivering form warily. "You don't want to shock him; in his dreams he's facing an enemy, and startling him awake will blur the lines between sleep and reality for him. He may not be able to distinguish between you and who he's fighting."

"You sound like you have experience with that," Rogue commented, looking between Logan and I sadly.

I forced a thin smile, "I'm a scientist, and I've seen my fair share of nightmare inducing traumas."

Rogue couldn't find anything to say to that, and so began whispering "Logan!" over and over.

When it became clear that the tactic wasn't going to work on top of the fact that his dream was getting progressively worse, I ordered Rogue to the hallway. She obeyed, though her easy submission had me worried that she would look in before I cleared it for her.

I'd dealt with Logan before while he slept and had nightmares. None of them had ever been this bad in Vietnam, prompting me to believe it was about whatever cruel process he'd undergone between the current date and Vietnam to graft his skeleton in adamantium. No doubt it had hurt like hell.

Regardless, the principle was still the same; shake him, and then quickly jump back to avoid being stabbed. If I was lucky, I would make it through without dying.

I grumbled to myself about annoying Wolverine and his habit of killing me before shaking his shoulder briefly and darting back. I wasn't quick enough, because when he woke up snarling, his claws sunk into my chest. I heard a scream from the door that snapped Logan out of his trance and likely woke everyone in the vicinity.

I could feel my mouth frozen into an _O_ as Rogue threw the door open, her hands covering her own lips.

Logan, for his part, looked afraid. His claws retracted, and unable to hold myself up, I started to fall. Logan caught me in his arms, cradling me to his chest like a fragile doll.

By that time, the door had banged open and the light had been flicked on as students and teachers flooded the doorway. None dared to enter the room. I felt Charles on the edge of my mind and requested that he make everyone leave and have a conversation with Rogue, who would need the comfort.

My will was abided and door slammed shut.

We were alone and the icy finger of death was slowly beckoning to me.

Logan's mouth moved, then he tried again as the words stayed locked in his throat. "I'm sorry, I-"

I cut him off, "I understand completely," I wheezed, my punctured lung protesting. "I was always slower than you anyway."

He didn't say anything to that. What could he say? Almost absently, my hand found its way to his rough cheek. "It's always cold, when I die, before I die." I confided, coughing heavily and feeling blood come out of my mouth. My clinical assessment told me that I was lucky; he'd punctured my lung once and it was a small hole. I would live long enough to talk to him for a few moments. "I slip into death so easily, but coming back is the hard part."

I dropped my hand, incapable of holding it up any longer, but Logan caught it in his own and held it to his jaw. His eyes closed. He looked regretful. "Coming back is a fight. A fight against the thing that lives in the dark." I shivered, the pain in my chest increasing as I fought for the air to continue, "I don't know what the beast is, but I picture it as something symbolic, like my sins trying to hold me back from living again.

"Have I ever told you that I believe in God? Or I did, at least. I'm not sure about that any more. There are so many things I'm not sure of any more."

"Even if you had told me, I wouldn't remember," Logan reminded me softly, his voice rough.

I laughed breathlessly, "I keep forgetting that; that you're not him, not _my _Logan. The one I knew." I could no longer feel the red seeping out of me and onto my white nightgown. "You're different, yet you haven't changed at all. The only thing different, really, is your lack of experience with me, with the world."

Logan threw me a suspicious look, "You lied to me earlier, when Chuck asked you what I was to you."

I wish I could've shrugged. Instead, I stayed silent for a few seconds, trying to make my mouth work. Finally, I managed so quietly I was afraid even _he _would have trouble hearing me: "I always lie, Logan. The real question is when I'm telling you the truth."

* * *

The cold overtook my body and I was left alone in the darkness. I curled into a ball, relieved that I could move, but dreading the struggle of getting my body back.

There's a story about Death, saying you had to beat him in a game of sorts if you wanted to come back to life. Sometimes it was a fiddle contest, or a chess game, but for me and my good pal, Death, it was a fist fight.

I sat there whimpering for a while as the shadow circled me. It was so obvious to me that it was moving; I was no armature to death. John had only just managed to notice it before I dragged him back to the world of the living; he hand't needed to fight Death, because I'd torn him away from the realm of the dead before Death could lay a finger on him.

Suddenly, the shadow stabbed me in the chest with a hand wielding three silver claws. The wound that I had received that had killed me. Slowly, I rose to one knee, then to my feet. Time to fight back- I punched the shadow in the jaw, dodging his blow to my temple. I felt everything inside me heal as I steadily beat the shadow in the duel.

* * *

**April 4, 2004**

And then I came back to my body. I was laying on a lab table, restrained as Mary Jane loomed over me. A shrill sound reverberated throughout the room and I realised with a start that the noise was my screams of agony. The intense pain registered a split second later as my body began knitting itself back together slowly.

My back arched off the table as I hissed and writhed at the sensation. The pain was concentrated to my chest, which felt like it was on fire, but was slowly spreading as blood filled my veins again. I moaned and cried and may have even shouted for Logan. Everything was fuzzy.

I had beaten the shadow too early and woken up before the process was complete. Before it had really even started, if what I felt was to be believed.

Mary Jane gave me a look of pity and I closed my eyes as the bright light burned into my retinas. I wasn't able to remember my resurrection in explicit detail, but it felt like it hurt more each time it happened.

Probably because I tried to keep the time in between each death and subsequent coming-back-to-life spaced out. It meant I was not inured to the pain.

Finally, the process was over and I lay there panting, newly healed chest heaving.

Mary Jane's voice registered in my ears over the sound of my laboured breathing as she told me she desired to run a few tests, but wanted my approval.

I inhaled deeply, then exhaled, trying to control the frantic beat of my heart. "Maybe some other time, Mary Jane. I need to go..." _Breakdown in my shower..._ "-lay down. I can't- just- not right now. I injected some tracers in myself earlier though, if you're interested. I wanted to see how my body... repairs itself." I felt my lip curl unpleasantly around the word. "Have a look at that, and save your analysis for me. I want to see what you think after I look through the data."

"Alright," she agreed easily. In fact, she hadn't made one thinly veiled, passive-aggressive comment to me yet. She pitied me. "Do you need help?" I could feel her releasing my restraints and she apologised. "I'm sorry, but Professor Xavier was afraid you'd hurt someone when you woke up."

"I'll be fine," I said shortly, not really annoyed at her, but irritated because I had a sneaking suspicion that I wouldn't actually be able to make it to my room unsupported. I sat up first, testing the resistance of the new skin and muscle. There was none. So I swung my legs over the side of the table and placed them on the floor. I slowly put weight on them, instantly feeling unbalanced and weak.

I forced myself to move even more slowly and was able to keep my pride as I managed not to collapse in a heap on the floor. I took a turn about the room to demonstrate to the fussing Mary Jane that I was all right, when really I was losing my energy and knew I was going to have a hard time getting back to my quarters.

After taking a sample of my blood and checking my blood pressure, Mary Jane cleared me to go back to my room. I sighed in relief and walked out of the lab, my notes on curing cancer clutched in my hand. they had been sitting carelessly on the counter and I couldn't leave them there- it was a promising idea!

I stumbled more than a few times on my way back to my room, surprised that Mary Jane hadn't forced an escort on me. Based on the time of day though, it was a shock that no one was out. From what I'd gathered, it was April fourth and six in the evening. People would be eating dinner.

Tough I'd half-expected the entirety of the teaching staff to be waiting for me.

Before I went into my own room, I hesitated at Logan's door. If he wasn't awake, it would be rude of me to disturb him, but at the same time, I was near certain that if he found out I was awake in the morning, he would be angered that no one had notified him sooner. A furious Wolverine is not part of a nutritious, balanced breakfast, believe you me.

So I knocked.


	6. Arc One: Broken Memories: Chapter 6

Ancient History 6

Onesmartcookie78

**A/N**: The Salem witch trials (as well as the others that occurred in England, Wales, Scotland and wherever else) were wrong and I do not condone them in any way. My character, Victoria Bishop, is based off a woman hanged for witchcraft with the same last name. The part where she says that she does not know what a witch is and the judge responds that if she does not know, how does she know that she is not one? actually happened in real life.

Please note that I am trying to be as historically accurate as possible in this story; the historical events mentioned have been extensively researched.

Also; Erik's last name, "Lensherr" is mistakenly spelt that way in the movie. I will be spelling it properly, "Lehnsherr", with an **h**.

Lastly, Victoria gives nicknames. Cyclops is "Shades" and Storm is "Moneypenny". This is a dig at how Ororo answers the phone at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, causing Victoria to believe her a receptionist. It's also amusing because Halle Berry, who plays Storm, is a Bond Girl in _Die Another Day_. Jean Grey is "Mary Jane" because she has red hair. This name is taken under the pretense that Spiderman** does not exist** in the Marvel-universe,

**Summary**: Victoria Bishop was born in the 1600s, so how is she still running around in the twenty-first century? With a deadly power, it's no wonder Xavier and Magneto want her for a weapon. Set during _X-Men_. Logan/OC.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the _X-Men_ (although I really wish I owned at least Wolverine), only Victoria and any other OCs mentioned.

**We reach canon dialogue in this section, though I have embellished and abridged accordingly to keep interest (especially in writing it).**

* * *

Logan didn't answer. I frowned. If he wasn't in his room, then where was he?

Despite the exhaustion weighing down my body, a gnawing mixture of curiosity and worry tugged on me to investigate. With a heavy heart and heavier feet, I decided to explore.

My first destination was the kitchen, but there was no one there. I bit my lip; it was dinner time. Where were the students? I hadn't seen them anywhere, come to think of it. The school was a ghost town.

Next, I went to Chaz's office, but none of the other adults were there, either. I returned to the lab, but Mary Jane had gone missing as well.

The worry grew until I was fairly certain I was having a panic attack. I sank down to the ground, putting my head between my knees and sucking in slow breaths in an effort to calm my heart rate. When that didn't work, I resulted to picturing Logan beside me, calling me the nickname he'd given me all those years ago, "Victory", and telling me to listen to HIS heart beat.

It wasn't something he'd do now, when he didn't know me, or during the Civil War when we didn't know each other, but if I'd done this in Vietnam, he definitely would have calmed me down if it'd gone on for to long.

I could practically hear his deep baritone telling me to "shut up". To most, that seems ridiculous, and rude, but it was purely Logan. The inflection of his voice would've been enough, in most cases, to make me laugh, but when I was having a panic attack, it would do nothing to help me.

Then, Logan would've sighed and sat down next to me, reluctantly wrapping an arm about my shoulders and methodically telling me to focus on something. I would've chosen the strong, steady beat of his heart, knowing that it was what he wanted me to do, even if he didn't want to say it. He would've figured it was implied, and wouldn't have wanted to use any extra words to convey his meaning. But I would've understood.

With him, I always understood.

Even just thinking about it, this theoretical situation in which Logan comforted me when I was having a panic attack, was enough to settle my breathing pattern. I relaxed, and I remember nothing after that.

* * *

_"The hottest places in hell are reserved for those who, in times of great moral crisis, maintain their neutrality." _  
― Jon F. Kennedy

* * *

"Is she dead?" Mary Jane's voice sounded almost hopeful.

"No, I can hear her heartbeat," Logan said.

I blinked blearily at the sound of his voice, standing. I almost moaned as I got to my feet; I was positively stiff from falling asleep against the wall. As I stretched, I noticed that the crew was dressed for a fight- Ororo and Scott were in their leather (kinky).

I was also blocking their entrance to Xavier's office.

I quickly went inside, leaving the door open for everyone to follow me. I stood to the right of Xavier's desk, unwilling to sit down for obvious reasons. I was rewarded by Logan standing next to me. Ororo chose one seat and Mary Jane the other, leaving Scott to hover beside her.

"Where were you guys?" I asked as Charles wheeled himself behind his desk. Suddenly, none of them could meet my eyes. My heart dropped to my toes, leaden. "You lost Rogue," I whispered. "How could you fucking lose Rogue!? You bloody-well knew her importance and you-"

"She felt responsible," Ororo whispered, reaching out to touch my arm. I jerked back like she was poison. Ororo's face dropped, "For your injuries. She was convinced that she needed to leave because of what happened to-"

"I would love to interject here and spout platitudes about how I know it's not her fault -and it's not- but I'm more pissed about the fact that you didn't tell me, Jean bloody Grey!" I shouted, surprising everyone.

Mary Jane herself flinched, her lips pressing into a flat line.

I couldn't even look at Logan to see how he was reacting to me insulting his precious Jean Grey. "Bloody hell, woman! I woke up after dying and you said nothing! I understand that you probably thought the information would be too much for me at the moment, and know that I'm giving you the benefit of doubt because even though I _really _don't like you, the Professor trusts you and I'm less inclined to think the worst of you because of that. But bloody hell! You just left! Where did you go?"

"Victoria-" Charles tried.

"No!" I screamed, "I want to hear her goddamn answer!"

"You were weak and the Professor and I thought that Ororo, Scott and Logan had it under control. We didn't leave until you woke up, which was thankfully only a few minutes after they left," Mary Jane said clinically, knotting her red hair easily as she spoke. The action drew Logan's gaze to her neck, which Scott then noticed... _Mein Gott,_ a love triangle? Really!?_  
_

The disgust that flew through my veins upon being faced with Logan's blatant interest and Scott's obvious jealously was insurmountable. No, it wasn't even disgust anymore! It made me literally sick to my stomach, and it made my vision red and blurry, splotched with black and anger and _rage_. None of my thoughts were even _coherent_. My vision swam in and out of control, and Mary Jane's voice sounded like it was coming from underwater.

_She's a witch, burn her!_

_Hang her! Kill the witch!_

_It's small in here, let me out! I'm not a witch!_

And then, suddenly, it just stopped. I looked at Charles, who wore a pitying expression. "Are you alright, Victoria?" he asked cautiously. "You weren't with us for a moment there."

I tried to slow my breathing, digging my nails into my palms like that would channel all of the fury out of my blood. I shifted things around in my head, burying all the nightmares away into a neat little box, compartmentalising because it was all I knew how to do. Undoubtedly, Charles had helped me moments ago when I was drowning, but I was perfectly capable of doing it myself, thank-you-very-much. "No. I'm not. But what's important right now is finding Rogue. We need a plan. But first I need to know exactly what happened. And I don't want to hear it form _you_–" here, I gestured disparagingly between Logan, Mary Jane and Scott.

"And I don't want any of your sympathy," I added, glancing between Ororo and Charles. "So if you three could leave, and not get into any arguments, then we can continue on."

Mary Jane looked like she desperately wanted to fight the matter, but Scott took her arm and pulled her from the room. Logan lingered for a moment, as though he could say something to change my mind, but must have seen the resolve projected clear in my eyes; I wasn't in the mood to see him, let alone speak to him. Maybe that would change when he got over Mary Jane, my insane jealousy, but I couldn't see him giving up on her. Ever. And that sucked the heart right out of me.

Charles gave me a knowing look when Logan had left and I sank into the chair next to Ororo like an old woman, weary with age and weighted still with responsibility. I had spent so much time alone, I had forgotten how much _life hurt_. Living was almost as painful as dying when secrets were being kept and unrequited love was added to the mix. And in Scott's case, the mutual attraction between Logan and Mary Jane was just as awful as my un-returned feelings for Logan.

I realised then that perhaps Scott and I had more in common then I had originally thought.

"Do you want to talk about it?" came Ororo's voice, soft and sweet. "I know I said earlier that we'd have movie night, but that isn't going to happen. So do you want to talk about it now?"

_Did I want to–?_

I wasn't sure if anyone had ever been so nice to me. And I wasn't sure if that simple question had broken my heart all over again or not. I stuffed the box into another box.

"No." I answered flatly. "I'm over it. It's not important. This is. This is _so much bigger _than petty emotions. Tell me what happened," I practically ordered.

"Well, Rogue ran away after what happened to you," began Ororo, but she was cut off by the professor.

"Perhaps it would be easier if I showed you?" he requested gently, like I might break.

My jaw tightened. "Fine. But don't take anything I'm not willing to give, Charles."

_I will not snoop around your thoughts,_ Charles said in my head, _so let me show you._

* * *

The mental rehash took seconds, saving precious time that a verbal one would waste. After I was up to speed, Charles called the others back in to strategise, and explain things that no one would know.

"He had a helmet," the Professor was saying. "One that he took from the corpse of Sebastian Shaw, built to block a telepath's intrusion. I had forgotten that he would have it, and was unprepared."

"So that's what that was," Mary Jane said thoughtfully.

I could practically hear Logan losing interest as Mary Jane speculated as to how it worked, and was proved correct in my intuition when Logan made for the door.

"Where are you going?" Ororo called, bringing everyone's attention to him.

Logan had the audacity to look offended. "Where am I going?" he growled. "I thought that was obvious. _I'm going to find her!"_

"How?" Ororo protested. "Just wait, the Professor can use Cerebro and–"

Logan snorted, and put a hand to the door again. "You lot can do whatever the fuck you want. I'm going to find her the traditional way: _by looking._" He said sarcastically, walking out the door.

Part of me jumped at his comment: 'I'll come with you!' it said, 'I'll help you!' it pleaded. I shoved it in the box, as well.

Ororo followed him, along with everyone else. I debated staying where I was, figuring things were strained enough as is, but wound up going anyway.

"Logan, you can't do this on your own!" Ororo was shouting. Geez, did she not realise how late it was? That all the students were probably asleep? "You need our help! You need allies! Magneto can control your body, you _need_ people who he can't."

Logan froze in place, his shoulders literally shaking in his anger. I could tell by the hard line of his body that he and Ororo were about to have a _major problem_. That she'd said the exact _wrong_ thing. "And who's going to help me?" Logan roared, whirling to throw us all a vicious, nasty glare. _"You?!"_ his eyes darted between all of us, though they lingered on the Professor and I, especially accusing. "You've done a _bang-up_ job so far, so I should trust you all the way, right?" he sneered mockingly.

I felt obligated to defend myself from his criticism, but knew he wouldn't listen to my retort.

"So then help us!" Ororo screeched. "Fight with us!"

Logan laughed derisively. "Fight with _you?! _Join the team? Be an X-Man?" he said condescendingly. _"Who do you think you are?!_ You're a group of vigilantes in _leather_ who can't fight worth _shit and you think you can help me?!_ You can barely protect _yourselves!"_ He gesticulated wildly between Ororo, Scott, Charles and Mary Jane. "You're _mutants_. The whole world is full of people who hate and fear you, and you're wasting time trying to protect them?" he chuckled darkly, and I felt my heart rate spike at the sound. "I've got better things to worry about."

Logan took a deep breath, and ran a hand through his light brown hair. "You know?" he snickered breathlessly. "Magneto's right: a war's coming. Are you sure you're on the right side?"

"Count me neutral," I interrupted whatever Ororo was about to say. "I've been through too many wars, Charles, and you promised me that this wouldn't evolve into another. I'm done. If this whole thing explodes in you lot's faces, I'm gone."

"Will you help me find Rogue first?" Logan asked immediately, eyes searching mine.

I glanced away, feeling sick all over again. _He loves Mary Jane. He doesn't even know who you are_. And yet, he was trusting me with Rogue. It was clear that he cared about the girl in a fatherly manner, and he trusted _me_ to assist him in her rescue. "Yes. But then I'm gone. I want all of you to lose my number. I don't want to see _any_ of you again." That applied specifically to Charles, because I knew Logan wasn't going to come looking for me. Maybe for answers, but if he had Rogue, I didn't expect that he would need them. He could start over.

I could see the hurt rip over Ororo's face and the grim resolve smothering Charles' optimistic look. He knew I was a lost cause.

"No!" Ororo shouted, close to tears, her eyes flashing white and thunder rumbling as she fought to control her powers. "You two don't get to walk away! You need to choose a side! This whole war is bigger than you two and Rogue! This affects mutants everywhere! You want to talk about picking sides, Logan? At least we've _picked one_! Both of you are too afraid too, and we need you!"

"I thought that _we,_" Logan gestured between himself and me, "needed _you_? You can't have it both ways, Storm, and Victoria and I have chosen; we chose _ourselves_."

"I can't believe you'd be so selfish!" Ororo whispered, slumped slightly.

"I need to be selfish. After years of fighting for people that I don't know and causes that I don't believe in," I started slowly, then gained fervent passion, "I _need_ to be selfish. Being selfish is the only that I can do. It's what will keep me alive this time, Ororo, because you lot are facing an enemy that I've never wanted to; other mutants. You can't ask me to fight them for you, and I won't. I need to be selfish. I need to choose myself. It's the only way that I'll be able to live with my own decisions."

Logan gave me an indiscernible look, somewhere between grudging respect and pitying understanding. "Let's go," he said, opening the door to the exit for me.

But a man was stumbling through the opening, collapsing at our feet. He was sickly and pale, his skin stretched far too thin, and nearly translucent. "I'm looking for Doctor Jean Grey," he said, voice rasping nearly incoherently. "I'm looking- I need–" he coughed.

_Who's Jean Grey? Oh, right. Mary Jane._

Mary Jane -Jean- stepped out from behind Scott. "Senator Kelly?" she asked.

Kelly fainted into Logan's arms. How romantic.

* * *

Once again, Charles filled me in within seconds. Logan hauled Kelly downstairs to Mary Jane's lab, the rest of us traipsing after him like an entourage. Mary Jane and I went about hooking Kelly up to various equipment, mainly an IV, and a heart rate monitor. I took the liberty of drawing some blood from Kelly, while Mary Jane debated internally as to whether or not we should give him an MRI or X-ray him. I could tell, because her hands would occasionally twitch in the direction of both machines, then still. Not to mention, I could practically hear the cogs spinning in her head.

Finally, Kelly regained consciousness to all of us surrounding him a circle. Instantly, Logan and I both moved back to give him space. I figured that with both of our recent ventures involving us on the same table, we could both appreciate not being crowded and were giving Kelly the same treatment subconsciously.

"Senator Kelly?" Charles said politely, voice tinged with warmth and acceptance. Like he already knew what was wrong and had adjusted accordingly. "I'm Professor Charles Xavier."

Kelly's eyes widened and he scrambled to sit up slightly, though he failed in the end. His fingers slipped off the purchase the examination table offered like butter. Interesting. "I-I- I was afraid that if I went to the h-hospital th-they'd..." he trailed off weakly, eyes glinting in fear.

Charles gave him a slightly condemning look, though it was no less kind. "Treat you like a mutant?" he finished for the Senator, expression slightly admonishing. "We're not what you'd think. Not all of us."

Kelly's eyes cast around wearily, trusting when they landed on everyone but Logan. I couldn't blame him. Logan cut an imposing figure, with his broad shoulders and huge muscles. I imagined he was comparing Logan's hulking figure with Victor's. "Tell that to the ones that did this to me."

Charles sighed and wheeled himself around to Kelly's head. "Senator, I want you to relax. I'm not going to hurt you." Charles' hands moved deliberately, until they were resting on Kelly's head. I assumed that he was reading Kelly's mind, and it was over in a second.

But Charles accidentally projected one thing to everyone in the room: Erik's -no, Magneto's- vaguely German accent uttering a phrase that chilled my blood: _"Welcome to the future, brother."_


	7. Arc One: Broken Memories: Chapter 7

Ancient History

Onesmartcookie78

**A/N**: The Salem witch trials (as well as the others that occurred in England, Wales, Scotland and wherever else) were wrong and I do not condone them in any way. My character, Victoria Bishop, is based off a woman hanged for witchcraft with the same last name. The part where she says that she does not know what a witch is and the judge responds that if she does not know, how does she know that she is not one? actually happened in real life.

Please note that I am trying to be as historically accurate as possible in this story; the historical events mentioned have been extensively researched.

Also; Erik's last name, "Lensherr" is mistakenly spelt that way in the movie. I will be spelling it properly, "Lehnsherr", with an **h**.

Lastly, Victoria gives nicknames. Cyclops is "Shades" and Storm is "Moneypenny". This is a dig at how Ororo answers the phone at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, causing Victoria to believe her a receptionist. It's also amusing because Halle Berry, who plays Storm, is a Bond Girl in _Die Another Day_. Jean Grey is "Mary Jane" because she has red hair. This name is taken under the pretense that Spiderman **does not exist** in the Marvel-universe,

**Summary**: Victoria Bishop was born in the 1600s, so how is she still running around in the twenty-first century? With a deadly power, it's no wonder Xavier and Magneto want her for a weapon. Set during _X-Men_. Logan/OC.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the _X-Men_ (although I really wish I owned at least Wolverine), only Victoria and any other OCs mentioned

**ONCE AGAIN, things are changed slightly to make it more interesting to read. Canon can be boring :D**

* * *

_"__People say I am ruthless. I am not ruthless. And if I find the man who is calling me ruthless, I shall destroy him."_

― Robert F. Kennedy

* * *

"The machine appears to cause mutation in humans," said Charles. His voice seemed to echo around me, like he was talking underwater. Everything had clicked for me, but this lot was still drawing conclusions. I couldn't help but think that if I didn't say the reason out loud, it would cease to be true. I think Logan had come to the same assumption as me; it wasn't that hard to figure out, but both of us were too busy rejecting the notion to say something.

"But the mutation is unnatural," Mary Jane said what everyone already knew. "Kelly's body is rejecting it. His cells began to break down almost immediately." She let her red hair down, and suddenly our conversation turned into a shampoo commercial.

_But they can't kill Rogue. They can't use her like that. Logan and I won't let them._ Unfortunately, this didn't seem to be one of those few times where Charles was listening to my thoughts.

"What effect does it have on mutants?" Scott asked, his sunglasses directed at Jean. They had been since she had flipped her hair. Logan hadn't noticed. For some reason, that made me positively elated.

"There appears to be none. But I fear it will do serious harm to any normal person," Charles said, his eyebrows furrowed in worry. "And there's still the matter of what Magneto plans to use Rogue for."

_Call him Erik. You make him sound inhuman by calling him a title, and he doesn't want to be human. Don't give him the satisfaction._

Logan's restless pacing came to a stop right next to me. "Do you want to tell them, or should I?" he wondered in my ear. I had to fight off the shiver that threatened to rake through my body. Oh, did I understand why I was so jealous of Mary Jane now.

"You keep working on a plan," I told him, having noticed the cogs turning obviously in his head. He was always a better tactician than me anyways. "The machine drew its power from Erik. Rogue draws power from people. He's going to force her to touch him to gain his power and then have her power the machine. He won't care if it kills her," I said louder. "He's going to use her to turn all of those people from the conference into mutants. That's why he started with Kelly. But he doesn't know that the machine is defective yet."

"That doesn't make any sense," said Scott. "What if Rogue kills him?"

"I guess he feels safe enough with Sabretooth to pull him away," I said, shrugging. "What I don't understand is why he doesn't use an electromagnet or build a nuclear reactor. Rogue is an unstable power source herself. But he must have taken shortcuts on the machine or it would've worked right to begin with, so it doesn't surprise me that he's doing the same here."

"Let's not give advice to the bad guys," Mary Jane sneered, straightening her skirt.

"It's not like he's here to hear me," I sassed her back. But I received a nod from Logan, and knew that he had come up with something, and it-was-time-to-go-now.

"I'm going to go check on Kelly," said Ororo, who had been quietly standing in the back. "You said the mutation was being rejected by his body, and he should have someone near him when he... you know." Her hands moved awkwardly in a motion I figured meant 'dies' to her. I noticed that she had refrained from using the word, however, and had to wonder as to if someone close to her had... you know.

Logan had grabbed my arm and was practically steering me out of the room by now. "We're just going to..." I didn't get to finish as Logan slammed the door shut behind the three of us. "That was rude."

"Don't care," he growled, leading me past a befuddled Ororo.

"Hey!" she called after us. "Where are you going?!"

"Didn't we have this conversation?" Logan shouted back in return. "We're going to find Rogue."

"You can't just–?!" Ororo exclaimed.

"Watch us." Logan snarled, dragging me through an open door. With my hopeless sense of direction and reliance on Logan's hand on my arm for guidance, I hadn't noticed that he had lead us to the elevator. But I did notice that he didn't drop my arm, even as we stood waiting to go downstairs.

"What's the plan?" I broke the silence. I think Logan forgot that I was even with him.

"Can you fly the jet?" Logan asked.

I thought about it for a minute. I had learnt to fly in the military, and had enjoyed it enough to keep current the newer designs, so... "Probably. I can probably do it."

"Then let's go," Logan said, jerking me out of the barely opened doors. I was surprised that we both fit through the small gap, especially since Logan was huge. He led me into the hangar and found the switch to open it up to the outside world.

I, meanwhile, entered the jet, only to find that it was all set up to fly. I guess the X-Men kept it ready for flight so that they could leave at a second's notice. I strapped myself into the pilot's seat and familiarized myself with the switches and levers. Honestly, it wasn't that different from any other plane that I'd flown. I'd half-expected the technology to be beyond my skill level, but it was not.

"Are we good?" came Logan's voice from behind me. I almost jumped.

"Yeah," I said slowly. "Do you think we should–"

"We're coming," said Mary Jane. I turned around to see her, Ororo and Scott.

I frowned at her. "Where's Charles? I'm surprised that he doesn't want to confront Erik."

Everyone shifted at my usage of "Magneto's" given name.

"Cerebro was sabotaged," Mary Jane explained. "The Professor tried to use it to confirm Magneto's destination, but he was knocked out. I reversed it and checked..." Then, more reluctantly: "You were right."

I shot her a triumphant smirk, but didn't feel the need to say anything.

"And Kelly?" asked Logan gruffly.

I met Ororo's eyes, and she shook her head at me, still unable to get the word out.

"He's dead," I said for her. She flinched at the word. I started the plane and led it to take off. "It's to be expected, and it couldn't have been prevented." I shot her a sympathetic smile, and she gave me a watery one in turn. "It wasn't your fault, Moneypenny."

Logan whacked my arm. "Hey! Eyes on the sky, Victory!"

For a second, it was almost like the good ol'days, but he didn't remember them. And he'd called me by that cursed nickname. I grimaced at it. He didn't have any right to it. "Don't call me that, Logan. Please." I practically begged him. I was ashamed of myself. I couldn't believe that I'd been reduced to this, over _Logan_. He'd never made me feel so uncomfortable before.

"Why not?" Logan wondered, smirking.

"Just... don't." I avoided everyone's gazes.

Scott saw fit to break the thick silence: "You know, Logan, I'm worried that you're going to endanger the mission."

In response, Logan snorted. "I wasn't the one who tore the train station a new sunroof, mate."

I snickered. "Really, Shades?"

"No, but you did stab Victoria through the chest," Scott retorted smugly.

Instantly, my and Logan's faces fell. "Don't bring me into this," I protested. "Not like that. It's not fair to him, Shades. It wasn't his fault."

Scott's eyebrows raised. "Sure it is. He stabbed you right through the chest because you were nice enough to wake him up from a nightmare."

"He was still lost in that nightmare," I defended. "He wasn't awake yet. He was only trying to protect himself."

Scott's neutral expression had completely faded by now, and I recognised his features settling into a half-jealous, half-determined mask. This was no longer about proving a point, this was about proving that he was better than Logan. Logan had stabbed a woman and Scott had not, so pick him, Mary Jane!

"You're romanticizing his actions because you're in love with him," Scott said smartly. Okay, now that was utterly uncalled for. I could feel my cheeks darkening and my vision clouded over red for the second time today. "You don't want to accept that he _stabbed you in cold blood_ because you don't want to face the fact that he's a bad guy."

I was about to snap something that I would undoubtedly regret later, but Logan hauled off and decked him.

"Argh!" Scott clutched his nose, stemming the instantaneous blood flow. He was lucky that Logan hadn't punched him in the jaw– a broken jaw was definitely much worse than a broken nose.

"Hey!" Ororo cried, trying to break them up. She was ignored, and quickly stepped out of the way to avoid the inevitable fight.

In a furious move, Scott went to punch Logan back, but Logan easily dodged. At Scott's attack of Logan, Mary Jane screamed for them to stop. She was Scott's fiancée, and she hadn't even blinked when Logan had hurt her future husband.

If I hadn't been seething before, I was certainly doing so now. "Scott, Logan," I said as calmly as I could. I was proud that my voice held the same chilly indifference to it that it did when I was Brigadier General. Giving orders was an acquired talent, and I had mastered it. "Sit the _fuck_ down right now, or so help me, I will crash this jet right into the ground."

No one was ever able to disobey that voice, and Logan and Scott were not immune. I had not lost my touch. I could wrangle teenagers and grown adults.

There was deafening peace for a moment.

Scott broke it again: "It's not fair. If you crashed us, you and Logan would live, but the rest of us would die."

I shot him a glacial glare and he shrunk in his seat. "Feel lucky, if anything, Scott; that means I can kill Logan as many times as I want."

Ororo cleared her throat. "I'd like to state that Jean and I are innocent, and don't deserve to be killed."

"Then you two can bail out," I shrugged. "Help yourselves. We're over water, and you should be able to protect her, Ororo."

"Still–" Scott tried again.

"Scott, shut the fuck up." I ordered.

"You two aren't wearing the uniforms," Mary Jane said finally, if only to break the tension. "We're wearing the uniforms."

"The uniforms are stupid," Logan dismissed grumpily.

"Leather is difficult to manoeuvre in," I added.

"What would you prefer, yellow spandex?" Ororo joked. But it wasn't the right time. No one laughed.

* * *

"We're here," Scott announced. "Ororo, some cover, please?"

"No!" I shouted. "That would be stupid. Erik would know we're coming! That's the same as leaving a calling card with Moneypenny's name on it."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Scott agreed. I think it was less that he believed I was right, and more that he was still afraid to anger me. "They don't have the equipment to pick us up on their scanners anyway– and if they do, they deserve to catch us."

"Here, I'll put on infrared," I said, flipping the switch. "Now we can see where they are, if they're not on the boat at our three." I flew into the clouds to avoid being spotted by the boat and wound up landing far away from it in the water.

"Look," Scott pointed to the Statue of Liberty. "The torch."

* * *

Everyone stupidly tried to enter the gift from France without checking for cameras or anything, but I stopped them by shoving Scott, who was leading. "What are you doing? Do you seriously think that security will ignore you?"

I shook my head at all of them and pulled out a transmitter from between my breasts. Scott flushed and looked away as soon as he realised I was about to go fishing in my cleavage, but Logan held my eyes. I cocked an eyebrow at him, and he raised one back.

I checked the battery on the transmitter, then hit the button. "There. That set off an EMP that should scramble all electronics within ten yards for a minute." _Fifty-nine, fifty-eight..._ "That should give us enough time to go to through the front door."

Scott stared at me. "Did you invent that?"

_Fifty, forty-nine..._

I rolled my eyes. "Talk later. Did you hear me? _A minute_." _Forty-one, forty..._ "Why are you all standing there!" _Thirty-seven, thirty-six..._ "Move it!" Brigadier General Bishop's voice came out again. No one hesitated to listen.

_Twenty, nineteen_... "Shit! Faster!" I grabbed Mary Jane and yanked her into a blind spot, trusting everyone else to follow us. Out of the group, she was the most likely to argue with my command.

_Two, one._

I let out a breath and hit the transmitter again. "Let's go. Quickly."

We walked through the front door and I looked for motion sensors or heat detectors or cameras. There were only two that I could see, one right in front of the door, and the other far down the hallway. I informed Logan and asked him if he saw any others, but my count was right. I had him give me a boost and disabled the camera with a neat cutting of a wire– I had a knife strapped to my thigh.

"We're good." I said, then corrected as everyone nearly walked through the metal detectors. "Hold up. Logan, at the very least, cannot go through those. I'll deactivate them. Give me a second."

Logan paused suddenly, sniffing the air. He grabbed me by the waist and swung me out of the way as a scale replica of the Statue of Liberty tried to hit me. "There's someone here," he said obviously.

The Statue morphed into a copy of him, and he abruptly set me on the ground to intercept the strike the copy sent at him. The fight carried on through the metal detector, and the alarms started blaring.

"Fuck!" I hissed, and clicked the transmitter to silence them. _Fifty-nine, fifty-eight..._ I scrambled to unscrew the backing of the detector with the screwdriver I kept shoved down the side of my boot. _Twenty, nineteen... _I was met with a maze of wires. "Shit, shit, shit!" _Ten, nine_. I wildly cut a few wires, but didn't notice a Logan sneaking up behind me. Or maybe I just subconsciously assumed it was my Logan. I don't even know. All that I do know is that I had three solid lines through my arm and I was screwed.

I rolled out of the way to dodge another attack and threw my knife. It sank cleanly into fake-Logan's shoulder, but he pulled it out. I withdrew another as I cartwheeled away from the next attack on one hand. A hard tap of my heels on the ground released the knives at the toes of my boots.

Fake-Logan swiftly kicked at me. He favoured his legs in an attack, I noticed quickly. I'd have to take care of that. When he kicked at me again, I caught his leg in mid-air, and had a knife through it before he could jerk away. However, his other foot shot up as he used his momentum to spin, and it caught me in the face.

Pain tore through my jaw and I spat blood on the ground. _Shit._

Fake-Logan had pulled the knife from his leg and sent it spinning towards me. The knife slowed as it flipped end over end through the air, and I snatched it easily by the handle in time to slash at fake-Logan's claws and prevent them from impaling me again. He pressed closer, putting pressure on my hands, and I stabbed him in the crotch ruthlessly with a knife in my boot.

Fake-Logan sank to his knees, claws retracting as he turned into a feminine blue-mass. I scowled at the other mutant and released the mechanism on my boots, spitting the daggers out onto the ground. Then, I shoved the two of them mercilessly through her hands to pin her in place. The knife in my hand twirled expertly through my fingers as I spun it round and round. Blood coated the handle and the woman whimpered, but it didn't affect me.

I smirked and walked away, regretting nothing.


	8. Arc One: Broken Memories: Chapter 8

Ancient History

Onesmartcookie78

**A/N**: No more ridiculously long author's note :D I trust you lot can remember what it says. Also: **CANON CAN SOMETIMES BE BORING. AND IF THERE'S AN OC, THINGS SHOULD BE SUBJECT TO CHANGE. So, things are different from the movie.**

**_*I will be having a competition for a cover drawing for this fanfiction. If you are interested, shoot me a PM.*_**

**I'VE JUST DECIDED TO POST A SPECIAL CHAPTER WHEN THIS FIC HITS 100 REVIEWS. NEXT CHAPTER, I WILL LIST OPTIONS AND YOU LOT CAN VOTE. SO REVIEW!**

Thanks to all my reviewers, but a special shout-out to the idiot who flamed me. I'm pretty sure they've never even watched the movies, so take a look at the review; I actually got a kick out of it ;)

P.S. I took a character alignment test for Victoria, and she got True Neutral. I thought that was pretty accurate!

**Summary**: Victoria Bishop was born in the 1600s, so how is she still running around in the twenty-first century? With a deadly power, it's no wonder Xavier and Magneto want her for a weapon. Set during _X-Men_. Logan/OC.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the _X-Men_ (although I really wish I owned at least Wolverine), only Victoria and any other OCs mentioned

* * *

"_I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best." _

― Marilyn Monroe

* * *

No one said a word on the ride back to the mansion-turned-school. I was in a sort of entranced stupor, I suppose, with the silence flowing thickly through my ears, whispering to me that _it had happened again, I'd gone mad and killed someone_. But it only ever happened when I joined the army! How could it have happened now? Hadn't Charles _promised_ me that this would be a non-combat, English-and-history-teaching-job?

He had. He had sworn that he _thought_ I wouldn't have to get involved in any fighting. But thinking wasn't the same as reality, now was it?

I couldn't remember anything that had happened. Well, I suppose that's not exactly true; I could recall piloting the jet and getting everyone into the Statue of Liberty safely, but after that, everything sort of... _went blank_.

Flashes. Of red, sticky liquid on my hands and something silver-y that glinted sharply in the light. Blood? A knife? A projection? A hallucination? A flashback from a war a long time ago?

No. Couldn't be. Too vivid for an old memory. Or was it?

But there was dried blood crusted on my _bare_ hands, so _what had I done?_

And that was why the plane ride was so quiet; I was too afraid to ask, and off in a daze, trying to determine reality from fantasy, but only coming up with nightmarish delusions. Or, as some might call them, facts. I didn't know. I couldn't decide.

* * *

**September 11, 1969**

"For God's sake, Bishop, you're going to get your brains blown out some day," Victor sneered, shoving my head down. "Leave this to Logan and I." He gave my shoulder a nice pat (though it was rather rough and almost sent me sprawling) and readied himself to charge behind another large rock.

I rolled my eyes. "Sexist bastard. I was only taking a look. You'll get shot if you go now." I straightened the helmet on my head and raised my eyebrows at him challengingly. "And you _know_ what that means."

"Well, I wouldn't want to expose us, now would I?" Victor replied, smirking, his eyebrows moving up and down. "How 'bout you strip off your gloves and give me some cover, Little Miss Prude?"

I scowled. "Go fuck yourself."

"Afraid of your mutation?" he retorted, snickering. I'd always disliked Victor, but I'd be damned if Logan didn't make up for him.

"I hope you get shot, Victor."

"Ouch! Little Miss Prude, you have wounded me," Victor said sarcastically. "Give me cover." And with that, he commando rolled out of cover.

I sighed and looked at my gun disparagingly. I'd never been fond of guns. I disliked that they deprived the user of seeing the victim die. For me, that was an integral part of killing anyone– being forced to watch as the light left their eyes. It sounded morbid, but it served as a reminder that what I was doing was _wrong_, and unnatural, and _completely undeserved_.

At some level, I preferred the awful stench of blood and the feeling of it running from my fingers to seeing a bullet pierce the skin of an enemy, whereupon they suddenly dropped to the ground. I liked the grotesque sight of marred flesh and red-coated silver. Because it made me feel sick to my stomach. It made me feel human, and being human was so much better than being mutant. Because if I was human, I wouldn't still be alive, and that would be a blessing.

* * *

We were back at the mansion now. Everyone exited the jet, but I got stuck halfway through standing up and had to sit again. It felt like there was something lodged in my throat, the same sort of something that was preventing me from getting out of my seat. Closing me off from the world, sealing me inside my own little hell of _OhmygodIblackedoutagain._

I supposed I should ask what happened, but no one could look at me through the whole ride back, so I assumed it had been bad. As a result, I didn't want to ask. If it was bad, I didn't want to know. Scratch that, I didn't want to know no matter what. I didn't want to be told that I had killed everyone and scared all of my teammates.

Though I did want to know if we had saved Rogue. I couldn't remember if we had either.

But, oh, my head was hurting, and I was peeling dried blood off my hands and trying not to vomit and wishing that _the old Logan was here, he'd know what to do_. But he wasn't. I was alone. I always wound up alone.

Now I wasn't. Someone was talking to me. I hadn't even noticed that someone else had stayed on the jet. Or had they come back on because they were worried about me? Nothing like that had ever happened to me before.

"–ia."

"Vic–?"

"–ay?"

"Are you okay? Victoria? You never told us whose blood that is. Are you okay?" It was Ororo. No, Moneypenny. That was her real name, right? Or was that the name I'd given her? No, no one had a name like that. It was all in my head. _Both_ those names were fake. I was delusional again. But I was okay. Because–

"Not mine," I choked out. Maybe I wasn't okay. But I was– "Alright."

Ororo's face slowly came into my field of vision, hazy and blurred. I hadn't even realised that I was crying until I saw the distorted lines of her face. I guess I hadn't really been seeing the red that soaked my hands after all. Another wave of nausea ploughed through me, and I almost lost it then and there.

"You're not 'alright'," Ororo said sternly, but her tone was gentle. "You're as white as a sheet, and the whole ride home, you were muttering about blood, knives, and not remembering anything." She sighed and took a seat next to me. Her hand hesitated over my bloody one before touching the presumably clean fabric on my shoulder. Did the blood run all the way up my arms? What had I done?

"Look, the Professor is here if you need help remembering anything," Ororo said, her voice somehow soft yet demanding all at once. She wasn't _suggesting _that I see Charles, she was _ordering _it. And I was just about sick of following orders. Of killing on command. That was how things like this happened.

"I don't need help." I said stubbornly. To prove my point, I surged to my feet, though the movement made the pain in my head that much more pronounced. I stumbled and swayed drunkenly as I tried to get away from Ororo –_I just needed to be alone, that's all, just leave me alone–_ and brushed her off when she tried to help me.

Anger made Ororo's eyes flash white momentarily before she calmed. "Victoria, I just want to help you. You're my friend. I'm not the enemy here. I just want to know if you're okay. In fact, all I know is that you incapacitated Mystique and came back like this. From then on, you've been unresponsive, and whenever someone tried to touch you, even if they were on our side, you would beat them into the ground."

'Mystique'? The name brought to mind a feminine blue mass, but she bled red blood, same as everyone else. Ororo had said that I 'incapacitated' her, but that didn't mean that I'd killed her, right? Or had I? Ororo didn't seem to know very much about what I'd done. But I didn't want to ask. All I wanted to know was if–

"–Rogue's okay. In fact, she's asking to see you. Jean gave her an IV, and she woke up on her own. But she wants to talk to you and Logan." Ororo managed to say exactly what I'd been wondering. "You should probably wash up before you see her–"

I was already walking away.

* * *

"You shouldn't _be_ in here," Mary Jane was shouting at me, "much less covered in blood! You're going to contaminate the lab equipment! Victoria! Victoria, can you hear me?! Get out of here until you've taken a shower!"

I tactfully ignored her, dodging her attempts to grab me, and ducking past Shades. No, Scott. His name was Scott. But was this woman really Mary Jane? Mary Jane had red hair. Not the same shade of blood. Thank God for that.

I dodged and weaved until I reached the door to the room Rogue presumably inhabited. I opened it, and took care to seal it with a quick bit of hacking so that Mary Jane couldn't get in. I got the feeling that I would've smirked at the action if I could've. But I didn't. Which meant I couldn't. Which meant something was keeping me from being happy... but was it the pondering on whether or not I'd murdered someone, or the fact that I had? I didn't know.

"Miss Bishop!" I heard Rogue exclaim. I turned around, and watched her face fall as she looked at me. In fact, her happy expression had faded into one of horror. I wondered how unhinged I looked. Surely not too bad, or Logan, who was sitting next to her, would have carried me from the room, screaming, to get me away from her.

"I didn't know that you helped to rescue me," Rogue said slowly, her southern accent smoothing words that were almost accusatory over. "No one told me, and I never saw you, but why are you–?" she gestured at me from head to toe. "Why are you–?"

The words were stuck in her throat.

At that moment, I found my ability to smile. I don't know if it came out as more deranged, or a grimace, but it made Rogue cringe away all the same. "I don't know!" I said cheerfully.

Logan was frowning at me. "How about you go to your room, Victory?" he said roughly. I liked that he wasn't walking on eggshells around me. Mary Jane hadn't, either, but I didn't like her. In fact, I kind of hated her. Had I always hated her? I think I had. She was irritating. But that wasn't the whole reason. She liked Logan; that –in and of itself– was problematic for me, but add in the fact that she was engaged to... Scott... and she had herself a case of super-slutting. The worst part was the Logan felt the same.

And why wouldn't he? Mary Jane wasn't a psycho who ran around and killed people, and then didn't remember it and acted like a madwoman as a result. But if he couldn't deal with me with all my issues, he didn't really deserve me to begin with, now did he?

As if on cue, Mary Jane could be heard pounding on the door, telling me to _get out right this instant_, that she _didn't want to have to call Xavier, but would if I didn't do what she asked_.

Now, Logan was looking at me with something akin to pity. He said something quietly to Rogue, then stood and grabbed my bloody hand. I liked that. Maybe he could accept me. He didn't seem to care that I was covered in blood, and he had no problem touching me, like Ororo.

Logan shot me a look that told me to deal with the door, and I undid the lock with my left hand, squeezing his fingers tightly with my other as the door sprang open and Mary Jane tumbled in. Logan wrenched me to the side and out of the way of her falling body, mumbling something that I couldn't make out before stepping around her. I liked that he didn't stop to help her. I liked that his full attention was on me. I wished it was always like this; it wasn't the same, but at this point, it was as close as I could get to _my_ Logan, and I relished in that.

Logan lead me to my room, but the silence was heavy and weighed on my shoulders. It forced cursed memories to root themselves in the forefront of my mind. I remembered stabbing Mystique– was it once, twice, thrice? More? I think it was more. After that, I think I ran in on Toad pushing Ororo down an elevator shaft. Scott was helping Mary Jane scrape something off her face, and I think I cut off Toad's tongue. Or maybe I tried, because he hit me with a crowbar until my head was bashed in and–

I was shuddering all over and suddenly on the floor, Logan sitting next to me. He wasn't frowning, not exactly, but his mouth was turned down slightly. Was it worry? No, this Logan didn't care about me. But he was asking me if I was okay.

I wanted so badly to say _yes_, like I had told Ororo earlier. I wanted to tell him that _I was okay, go see Rogue_, but I couldn't. I couldn't lie to _him_. God, why did he have to be the one to walk me back! I wish it was Mary Jane, instead. She wouldn't have made me feel like I needed to tell the truth. She wouldn't have–

"What happened?" Logan asked. His voice wasn't delicate, nor demanding. Just there. It was his, and he was only talking. No inflection, no feeling, no speculation or accusation or fear or horror or any other adjective. He was only offering to listen, in the most plain way he could.

As much as I couldn't lie to him, I couldn't look him in the eyes, either. "I don't know. Did I kill someone? Is this my blood? I don't remember. I blacked out. I went into soldier mode, kill mode, _murderer setting_." I laughed, but the humour wasn't there. It was a drained laugh, a bitter laugh, but no, there wasn't even _bitterness in it, it was just empty_. "Funny, isn't it? I've killed people most of my life, but my brain hides it from me. I black out so that I don't have to remember. You would've thought that I would've gotten used to it."

Logan was quiet for a minute. "Why tell me?" he mused. "I thought you would tell Ororo, or ask Chuck."

Our hands were still melded together. I savoured the contact. No, I savoured _him_. I wanted him, and this was the next best thing. "I trust you," I said, almost miserably. I didn't want to tell him, but I knew that I could. I knew he'd understand. One day, he'd get his memories back, and he was so easy to relate to.

More silence, then: "I'm not him. Not the Logan you knew."

I laughed, but it was empty again. Completely hollow, like I was sure my soul was. "I know. You don't have to tell me that."

"You wish I was," Logan continued. His words stung, but his hand tightened on mine, knuckles turning white. I felt a bone in my hand snap, but didn't care. His words hurt more. "Sometimes, you act like it, too."

"Can't help it," I said tiredly. "You look the same, you act the same... you just don't remember _me_."

"You want me to?" Logan asked, his eyebrows furrowing. "Who was I to you? You said I was a friend, but you act like..." he allowed the sentence to trail off, staring straight ahead.

I brought my legs closer to my chest, resting my head on them. I tugged slightly at Logan's hand as I did so, and half-expected him to pull away, but his thumb was rubbing gentle circles instead. I could feel dried blood coming off under his finger. He didn't seem at all sickened. "Acquaintance, friend, confidant, _lover_–" he flinched at the word– "what does it matter? There's no going back, and I've lost my capacity to care."

"I doubt that," Logan muttered, "but I can't give you that any more. You say you know, but I really am a different person."

I snorted. "Why are we even talking about this? It doesn't matter."

Logan's eyebrows raised marginally, but his expression said that I made a good point. "I want to find out who I was," he confessed. "Chuck told me he found something... and I want you to come with me."

My sharp intake of breath was all he needed as an answer.

"Look, you knew me. And I need to know who I was, so I want you to put whatever you feel about me on hold and help me find answers," he said with more conviction than his earlier request.

I thought, briefly, back to Ororo's indecision on whether Logan and I needed her and the other X-Men, or if they needed us, and had to ask: "Do you need me to come, or do I need you?"

Logan was silent. "Both. I could do it without you, I guess, but I'd much rather have someone to tell me if I'm on the right track, and steer me in the right direction. And from what I've seen, you don't want to stick around here; you burned your bridges today."

"I suppose I did," I said a bit breathlessly. "When did you want to leave?"

Logan heaved out a sigh. "A few days, maybe, but I want you to see Chuck before we go and find out what happened. And then I want you to tell me. It's eating you up right now, and I need to know more about who I'm dealing with."

I quirked an eyebrow at him, able to stare him in the eyes for the first time since we'd begun this conversation. It was simultaneously relieving and terrifying. "You want to know what triggers I have and if you can snap me out of it," I said shrewdly. "Ororo said I attacked everyone who touched me."

Logan chuckled gruffly. "Anyone who _touched _you? You went after people if they were within two feet of you."

"That's why you lot kept Rogue away from me," I deduced, staring at the wall again. "Did I attack you?"

Logan's hand clenched extra-tight around mine for a second before he let go completely. I watched as he rose to his feet and began to walk away, but I couldn't let him, because _I had to know, pleasetellme_.

"You didn't answer my question!" I snapped, gripping his forearm.

Logan stood still, then ripped his arm completely out of my hands and stalked away a good few feet, hesitating before saying, almost reluctantly: "No. I was the only person you didn't touch."

He walked away. I wondered how much it had taken for him to say that.

I cried.


	9. Arc One: Broken Memories: Chapter 9

Ancient History 9

Onesmartcookie78

**A/N**: A week early update! This is rare! But, I'm thinking about changing the way I update, so that out of all my ongoing stories, the one that gets the most reviews gets priority. I write for myself, but getting feedback makes me want to write, and makes it more enjoyable. So think of this as a trial run :)

_I will be having a competition for a cover drawing for this fanfiction. If you are interested, shoot me a PM._

Trigger warning: Extreme violence awaits. This is why I rated this story M, and it will likely get more graphic from here on.

**Summary**: Victoria Bishop's mutation is much more of a curse, but its power is the reason she's in this mess to begin with. If only Charles and Erik hadn't tried to recruit her; if only Charles hadn't remembered her decades later; and if only she didn't love Logan. Things would be so much easier. Romance, action, war, jealousy, psychological damage, broken memories... Logan/OC, X-Men.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the _X-Men_ (although I really wish I owned at least Wolverine), only Victoria and any other OCs mentioned

**I'VE SAID IT BEFORE, BUT THINGS ARE OFF-CANON SLIGHTLY FOR THE PURPOSE OF THIS STORY. NO MAJOR CHANGES, JUST A BIT OUT OF ORDER.**

* * *

_"The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It's the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared."_

― Lois Lowry, _The Giver_

* * *

"Why are you here, Victoria?" Charles' voice was gentle, practised. He was used to dealing with overly-emotional, hormonal, mutant teenagers. I wasn't hormonal and I wasn't a teenager, but I was definitely overly-emotional. Or maybe under-ly-emotional? I couldn't tell if I was feeling too much or too little, wearing my heart on my sleeve, or walking around dead in the eyes.

But Charles' question... why _was_ I here? The answer was obvious, glaring, but a bit unsatisfying: Logan had told me to come. Obvious, because it had happened; glaring, because there was no way to see around it; and unsatisfying because he wasn't here with me, and he only cared to know what had happened, not how it had affected me. The old Logan would've cared, wouldn't he?

"He would have," Charles agreed quietly. I looked at him sharply, and he had the grace to look at least slightly ashamed, yet entirely unapologetic. "You were unresponsive. I needed to know that you were doing all right," he explained. His electric blue eyes seemed especially piercing. "But that's not why you're here," Charles continued. "You want to know what happened at the Statue of Liberty."

I swallowed, then took my lip in between my teeth. Did I want to know? Yes. I wanted to know if I had killed anyone or hurt anyone. Not for Logan, for myself. That was a much more satisfying answer. That was a good answer. That was the right answer. Wasn't it? "Yes."

Yes, yes it was.

"Then relax," said Charles gently. "Just close your eyes and take a deep breath." He wheeled himself closer to me and I did as he asked. I felt his hand connect with my temple, almost like a Vulcan Mind Meld. "And we will uncover the past."

* * *

**The Statue of Liberty**

_A fight with someone who looked like Logan, but wasn't. Fake-Logan liked to use his legs, almost like he'd taken capoeira. Maybe he had. But I had knives, and I wasn't afraid to use them. I had been trained in various martial arts. I had been in the military. I had practical experience._

_So did fake-Logan. He came at me with everything he had. I took care of his legs and got him on the floor, pinning him in place with more knives. Logan faded into a blue woman with bright red hair and scales._

_I didn't care that I'd hurt her. It didn't matter. What mattered was ending the fight quickly, efficiently, and getting to safety, because everyone planned on coming at me with the intent to kill. Krav Maga taught me that._

_I ran into the next room and watched as a man with a long tongue and yellowish skin pushed a woman with white-blonde hair down an elevator shaft. _Toad and Ororo_, a voice in my head whispered. But which one of them was a_ friend? _Were _either _of them? It was best to assume that they were_ both _enemies._

_A pretty red-head _(enemy_, my brain said immediately_) _had something plastered over her mouth and nose, cutting off her breathing. A tall, seemingly attractive man with dark hair and a strange visor shot at the mask with a red beam of light. Was he trying to eliminate the enemy? If he was, he was a friend. But the mask was cracking into pieces, so he was her ally, therefore an enemy as well._

_But there was no more time to think or do anything, because Toad was coming at me, his tongue long and shooting towards me like a bolt of lightning. I ducked out of the way, but his tongue was already streaking at me again, fast and precise. The speed and reach of his tongue was almost like a gun without the deadly impact._

_I grimaced as I caught the squishy appendage with my left hand, my right already spinning a knife and bringing it down to just _barely _scrape his taste buds. But Toad's tongue was retreating into his mouth, taking me with it, and there was a crowbar in his hands and he was using it like a baseball bat, and there was so much blood after the first hit._

_I cried out in rage and pain and slashed at him with my knife hand. My left was stuck to his tongue and I couldn't get it off. His crowbar smashed into my right hand, undoubtedly breaking my wrist. I tried to kick him in the kneecap to incapacitate him, but he shattered the bones in my foot with a simple hit. And then the kneecap of my opposite leg was broken and it hurt too much._

_Toad grinned manically, picking up my knife and sawing at my left wrist. I screamed, but was cut off when Toad stabbed me in the chest, right through the heart._

* * *

I was gasping from shock and leftover pain. Cold sweat had broken out across my skin, and I shivered and shook. Charles was looking at me with something close to sympathy, but not quite. Good. I didn't want his pity, and I certainly didn't need it.

"Do you want to see more?" Charles asked, only a tad bit hesitant.

"No." And I wasn't even lying.

* * *

I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I was simply walking past, and they happened to be talking. Mary Jane and Logan. All I wanted was to tell Logan about my encounter with Charles. What's that saying about eavesdroppers? That they never hear good of themselves? I didn't actually hear them say anything about me, but their words broke my heart all the same.

"-she's still taken with you," I heard Mary Jane say.

They must be talking about Rogue; despite his fatherly intentions towards the girl, it hadn't escaped my attention that she idolised him as more than that. I couldn't exactly blame her for thinking of him in that way, but I could point out how inappropriate the relationship would be, considering the age gap. There wasn't just the fact that Logan looked to be in his forties while Rogue was a teenager– there was the fact that Logan was actually hundreds of years old.

"Well, you can tell her... my heart belongs to... someone else," Logan decided. I could practically see the look in his eyes, telling her he wanted her.

I gnawed on my lip as I made my legs move and forced myself not to care. I steeled my heart to the point where I was no longer sure I had one. He could smell fear and all other emotions so I smothered them and continued walking. Until, finally, I reached the edge of his hearing range. That's when I allowed myself to break.

And I had a feeling that I was going to be broken for a long time.

When I reached my room, I allowed a single tear to drop. Fists clenched, my teeth worked on my lower lip and I inhaled sharply.

'_Victoria'_, Charles' voice sounded sadly in my mind. He said nothing else, but his offer was clear; he was there for me when I needed him. It was no longer a matter of if.

_I want to tell you about when I met him,_ I made the decision suddenly.

I need you to know so that you won't pity me.

The undercurrent to my thoughts was there and he acknowledged that side of me without saying anything.

'_Meet me in my office when you're ready',_ he gave me the equivalent of a mental hug, but it made me feel no better.

* * *

I went to the bathroom and splashed cool water on my face three hours later. I had forced my thoughts from Logan in favour of reading. I didn't stray towards some sappy romance novel to quell that side of me, or choose a book with symbolic meaning: I just picked up the next book in the Nancy Drew series and read.

After checking to make sure it didn't look as though Logan had inadvertently ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped it to the ground, I allowed myself to leave my quarters. My steps were careful, measured. My breathing was even and my head held high.

"Victory." His voice said.

I froze, but forced myself not to stiffen. I turned at the sound of his voice, deep and sinuous to my ears. I was instantly overwhelmed by the the power of his appearance on me, and my heart. But I swallowed my attraction, hoping it wasn't rolling off me in waves. "Yes, Logan?" I tried to keep my voice from cracking. It was surprisingly neutral, all things considered.

"About what you heard earlier."

So he knew. He knew that I had accidentally eavesdropped. It wasn't my fault that the door was open whilst I passed by, and it was not as though I had deliberately stopped and said to myself, _'hmm, I'm going to eavesdrop.'_

"What _did _I hear earlier?" I challenged, meeting his eyes. They were a blue-ish grey and gleamed slightly with amusement.

"You know what I'm talking about," he growled. "I know what you think of me" –you have no idea what I think of you– "and I know that you disapprove. So I'll ask you not to say anything to _that _guy."

He means Shades; Scott, Cyclops. He means Mary Jane's fiancé.

To Logan, I was but a loose end, one that needed to be tied, for I had borne witness to his admission of affections to _Jean Grey_. I drew myself up to my full height. _"'Disapprove'_ is not a strong enough word. Truthfully, I am _repulsed _that you both would do such a thing to Scott and don't you dare tell me not to bring _her _into this," I snarled calmly, cutting off his objection, his defence of _her _before he could even jump on that high horse. "I'm revolted."

"I see the way you look at her and she you. Do not take me for a fool, Logan. You'd be wise to think the same of Scott; he is far more intelligent than you give him credit for. I will not tell him of my own accord, but should he ask, the information is his," I warned.

Logan's mouth thinned into a hard line. "That's all I can ask for."

And with that, I stalked away, and sue me if I swayed my hips a little extra.

* * *

Charles was very understanding. He didn't prompt me when I sat there in silence. He didn't push. He let me take my time. He was a man of great patience, and I couldn't help but think that, had Charles been the one with the extended lifetime, he could accomplish great things.

"I think I love him," I finally said softly, putting my head in my hands.

It felt like admitting defeat. And for me, it sort of was. After I'd been betrayed by my father (I could never truly blame my mother) and killed by my town, I'd decided that I'd never need anyone again. That, in essence, I would never love again. Yet here I was, knee-deep in my feelings for someone who could never love me until he knew the whole, uncensored truth. And I couldn't just tell him everything that had happened, because that was far too simple for Logan; he needed to get down and dirty and discover it with legwork.

I would've never been able tell him everything anyway.

"How long have you loved him for?"

I frowned in thought. Not since the first time I met him, surely. I had been 'male' and he had been a incorrigible jerk. I'd hated Victor, but I'd honestly hate him more at first. Victor was an instigator while Logan was... _Logan_, and I'd really hated him.

Not since Vietnam, or at least the beginning of it. I'd liked him more, but something had happened between meeting for the second time and Victor and Logan's execution. But I wasn't going to tell Charles about that. I couldn't. Not yet. I didn't trust him.

"I don't know."

That phrase was doomed to become the only thing to leave my mouth.

* * *

"What did Charles say?"

Logan dropped by my room to question me. Lovely. Didn't he know that he was exactly who I _didn't_ want to see? The answer was, inevitably, yes. Yes, he did know that. A better question was 'did he care?' And the answer was a resounding no. Why should he? Why would he?

I quickly rehashed what I'd found out from Charles' adventure into the dark corners of my mind.

When I'd finished, Logan having listened with rapt attention but a thoughtful expression, I couldn't help but look at my hands like they still had blood all over them. It wasn't like I'd killed anyone –though I'd certainly tried– but I'd gone into that state before, and I'd killed people then.

"What do you think? Am I good enough to go with you?" _Or is only Mary Jane good enough?_

Logan thought about it for a minute before a slow smirk split across his face. "What you're saying is that when you get into a fighting situation, you lose yourself and attack everyone _but me_ with the intent to kill?"

I bit my lip. "Yes."

The smirk became more wicked, insidious, even. "I suppose that's a good thing. At least we know you won't attack me. It could be pretty useful."

"You expecting a fight?" I wondered. What exactly was he planning to do? Where was he planning to go? Who were we going to see?

"We won't know until we get there," Logan said nonchalantly.

"When do we leave?" I asked.

"Whenever you want."

I'd never had options before. Not on a mission of any sort. I'd always had to take orders from some sort of higher-up. It was nice to be the final power for once. It was nice to be able to make a decision. "How about in ten minutes?"

"Consider it done."


	10. Arc Two: The In-Between: Chapter 1

Ancient History 9

Onesmartcookie78

**A/N**: So the first arc "Broken Memories" is complete. This is the beginning of a completely made up storyline; this arc will be known as "The In-Between", and it will be a silly little _X-Men/Avengers _crossover, as requested by one lovely reviewer. I hadn't planned this, but I've lost _X-Men: United_...

_I will be having a competition for a cover drawing for this fanfiction. If you are interested, shoot me a PM._

**Summary**: Victoria Bishop's mutation is much more of a curse, but its power is the reason she's in this mess to begin with. If only Charles and Erik hadn't tried to recruit her; if only Charles hadn't remembered her decades later; and if only she didn't love Logan. Things would be so much easier. Romance, action, war, jealousy, psychological damage, broken memories... Logan/OC, _X-Men_.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the _X-Men_ (although I really wish I owned at least Wolverine), only Victoria and any other OCs mentioned.

* * *

"_Taking crazy things seriously is a serious waste of time." _

― Haruki Murakami, _Kafka on the Shore_

* * *

"So let me get this straight," I said slowly, staring at the man in front of me in stupefied confusion. "You're blackmailing me with the knowledge of my mutation _to help you shop for your girlfriend?_"

The bloke – "Tony Stark", he'd informed me, as though I should know who he was – nodded smartly. "'Help' being the operative word; she doesn't want help, she wants companionship, but you'd know that, you know how women get, being a woman," he rambled.

If possible, my eyebrows raised higher. "Do you stalk everyone walking down this street to find out if you could coerce them into helping your girlfriend, or am I just _special?_" I said sarcastically, looking to Logan for assistance. It was then that I realised Logan had long ago walked away– around the time that Stark had started listing his "notable attributes". Couldn't exactly blame him...

"To be specific, I broke into a government database with a list of all known mutants, and I found yours to be particularly interesting, so it's no surprise that I remember you. I _was_ just going to pay some random stranger to go with Pepper, but since I know something you don't want other people to know, I figured I save money," Tony replied, shrugging. "I would go shopping with her, but –" here, he sucked a breath in through his teeth, nice and sardonic– "I'd much rather help Bruce cure cancer or something."

I felt my eyebrows pull together in a half-amused, half-livid expression. "_I'd_ much prefer to cure cancer to shopping as well. Don't you have some friend of your girlfriend's to call to go with her?"

Stark thought for a minute, tapping a finger against his chin. "I don't want to ask the red-headed traitor, but she's off with Legolas anyway, and Point Break has a very old-fashioned taste in clothes... I don't know, Capsicle probably wouldn't refuse if someone other than me asked him."

"So have your girlfriend ask him. Or ask him yourself and tell him it's for your girlfriend," I said in exasperation. Problem solved. I started to walk away, but was forced to stop when Stark grabbed my arm.

Almost instantly, Stark was crying out in pain as Logan – seemingly having appeared out of nowhere – twisted the offending appendage behind his back. "No touching," Logan growled. I wanted to scold him for attracting attention (Tony had mentioned something about being a bit of a billionaire and a public hero, though I had no idea who he was) but was too proud of the fact that he had managed to keep his claws in place.

That would have been a nightmare to explain.

"Oh, so are you two a thing? I think you two are a thing, or else Goliath here wouldn't have tried to break my arm off. But he shouldn't touch me. I don't like being touched. I'll shout 'rape'. I'll shout 'rape' if you don't get Goliath off me, Dim Mak," Stark prattled on. I was unsure of whether he was joking or not, and decided to get Logan off him just in case.

All it took was a simple hand on his bicep, and Logan released him.

"So how about it, Dim Mak? Will you go shopping with Pepper?" Stark asked, straightening his clothes out like nothing had happened – though he did keep a wary eye on Logan.

"No. But I'd be very interested in helping you cure cancer. I'm already about half-way there," I inputted eagerly, taking out the paper I'd used to start working out measurement and formulae. "The key to it is in Logan's blood," I said, jerking my head in the Wolverine's direction. Might as well throw him under the metaphorical bus so that I wouldn't be stuck with Stark-raving mad all day.

"Fine," Stark relented. "If you can convince Capsicle, you can help the Hulk and I."

"This was your plan all along," Logan grumbled, glaring at Stark.

Stark only shrugged mockingly in response.

* * *

"Hello, ma'am, I'm Steve Rogers," said a handsome poster-boy. I'm going to call him 'July', because he'd fit right in a fireman calendar. He looked exactly like Captain America, that personality they'd use to rally the troops and get the American public to buy liberty bonds to support the war effort. I wanted to snicker; Captain America had worn tights.

"Victoria Bishop," I replied, then elbowed Logan in the gut when he didn't introduce himself. I'll bet you ten bucks it hurt me more than it hurt him.

"Logan," he said shortly.

"Anyone want a drink?" Stark chimed in, waiving a bottle of scotch at all of us.

"Stark, it's ten in the morning," Steve scolded.

"How about you, Dead Girl?" Stark asked me, sloshing some into a glass clearly meant for himself. I had to wonder if he was already pissed.

"I'm fine," I replied, rolling my eyes.

"Why is he calling you 'Dead Girl'?" Steve whispered, staring at Stark suspiciously.

"Because Dead Girl was born in the late seventeenth century and lives today," Stark answered. "I thought it fit, since I'm clever like that."

I wanted to put my head in my hands, and heard Logan growl warningly next to me. "Stark, I thought we had an agreement," I hissed.

Stark's mouth quirked into a smirk. "Oh, that's right, we did. Oops. I forgot." Clearly, he had not. "By the way, Idle Hands, that's Capsicle," Stark said.

I looked at him blankly.

"'Idle Hands' is you, Dead Girl," Stark clarified.

"Fine. But you're 'Stark-Raving Mad' from now on," I conceded, rolling my eyes. What did he mean, 'Idle Hands'? Was that a reference to the fact that I killed people with one hand? It wasn't exactly something I was proud of. I turned to Steve, ready to beg if the situation called for it, but realised quickly how unnecessary that would be. If I asked nicely enough, this bloke would probably jump off the roof for me. "July – I mean, 'Steve'! – would you be a dear and go shopping with Stark-Raving Mad's girlfriend?"

Steve frowned at me. "Are you friends with Pepper or something?"

Time for the _pièce de résistance_. "Stark-Raving Mad kidnapped me off the streets and is trying to blackmail me to do so! The only way he'll let me leave is if you go with his girlfriend," I said as pathetically as I could.

Steve turned a stern gaze on Stark. "Stark! You can't just abduct someone and threaten them to go shopping with Pepper because you don't want to!"

"Uh, yeah, I can," Stark said, like Steve was an absolute idiot for even _suggesting_ otherwise. "Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, remember?"

Steve sent him a withering glare. "What I mean, is that this poor woman didn't deserve this treatment!"

"Does she look at all threatened?" Stark snorted. For his benefit, I arranged my features into something passable. Steve sent Stark a pointed look. "Crafty, Idle Hands."

"What's going on out here?" a bloke with thick brown, wavy hair and a forest green button-up questioned, stepping out of the elevator. "Who's this?"

I smiled at him and shook his hand. "Victoria Bishop. And this is Logan."

"Bruce Banner," the scientist introduced himself. As a scientist myself, I was privy to his work, especially since he'd been trying to cause artificial mutation to simulate the effects of the super-soldier serum used on Captain America. Was it that big of a surprise that I'd hacked into government agencies looking for answers? I'd say not.

"I'm familiar with your work," I said, grinning.

"But you don't know who I am?" Stark whined, slinging an arm around my shoulders, only to take it off when Logan rumbled deep in his throat. "How can you not know who I am? Tony Stark: eco-friendly inventor, hero of the people, Iron Man–" he paused for dramatic effect– "member of the Avengers."

I looked to Steve and Bruce for help. "Who are 'the Avengers'?"

"Oh, you know, just _Earth's mightiest heroes_. We saved New York from an alien attack. No big deal," Stark replied snarkily. "Have you been living under a rock, Idle Hands?"

I snorted. "Not so 'mighty' if I haven't heard of you. And saving New York is pretty much a daily thing. We saved New York's elite from being turned into mutants who would die due to instability in their cells because of the transformation and body's natural response of rejection. Right, Logan?"

Logan grunted. "And Rogue."

"I haven't heard about that," Stark sneered. "Ours was international news."

I twisted my face in confusion. "So was ours. How haven't we heard about each other's pissing contest submission?"

"Government conspiracy," Stark cited automatically. Next to him, Bruce groaned. Obviously, Stark often went on about this sort of thing. "No, really. Your files were very difficult to get into – JARVIS got booted from the system fifteen times because the security was so tight. They really don't want us to know about you."

"S.H.I.E.L.D. _does _like to lie to us," Steve said uncertainly. "The best way to get this figured out would be to confront Fury."

"No need," a British-accented voice filled the room, robotic monotone slightly tinny to the ear. "Sir, Director Fury is on the line for you."

I had almost expected Stark to throw a hissy fit based on the expression he'd had when Steve had begun talking about this 'Fury', and so was impressed when all he did was tell the AI to "patch Fury in".

One of the many televisions in the room lit up as a dark-skinned bloke with an eye patch wearing too much leather (I think I'll call him 'Kinky') popped up on the display. "We have a mission for you – who the fuck are they?"

Instantly, I knew this was going to end horribly.

* * *

**VERY IMPORTANT A/N**

**A/N**: Sorry, short chapter. I'll try and upload another one soon to make up for the length of this... But it does have _most_ of the Avengers in it (should Loki make an appearance, too? How about the other members of the X-Men? Drop a review with your reply!) and Tony's snarky mouth. This will be continued next chapter, unless it's not wanted...

Also, I'm keeping track of all the pop-culture references Tony will be dropping. If anyone can guess what they're from, and what they mean in context, they'll get points. The person with the most points by the end of this arc will get a special chapter written for them (I will provide options, they will choose). So take a guess! A wrong guess will not count against you!

And I will still be posting a bonus chapter when this story gets to 100 reviews. Here are the choices for _that_:

1\. "The one time" Victoria saw Logan outside of a warzone

2\. Victoria's movie night with Ororo

3\. "Victoria Alone", a recountment of all the wars she's been in

4\. The rest of what happened at the Statue of Liberty.


	11. Arc Two: The In-Between: Chapter 2

Ancient History 9

Onesmartcookie78

**A/N**: I am so, so very late. And also so, so very sorry. I kinda put this story on the back burner and forgot about it... hopefully it isn't burnt to a crisp TT_TT

Anyway, after I finish the _Avengers_ cross-over arc, I will post the bonus chapter. Feel free to keep voting.

Also, the majority of you lot asked for Loki, so hopefully this delivers...

**Summary**: Victoria Bishop's mutation is much more of a curse, but its power is the reason she's in this mess to begin with. If only Charles and Erik hadn't tried to recruit her; if only Charles hadn't remembered her decades later; and if only she didn't love Logan. Things would be so much easier. Romance, action, war, jealousy, psychological damage, broken memories... Logan/OC, _X-Men_.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the _X-Men_ (although I really wish I owned at least Wolverine), only Victoria and any other OCs mentioned.

* * *

_"It's hard to believe in coincidence, but it's even harder to believe in anything else." _

― David Levithan and John Green, _Will Grayson, Will Grayson_

* * *

_"No need," a British-accented voice filled the room, robotic monotone slightly tinny to the ear. "Sir, Director Fury is on the line for you."_

_I had almost expected Stark to throw a hissy fit based on the expression he'd had when Steve had begun talking about this 'Fury', and so was impressed when all he did was tell the AI to "patch Fury in"._

_One of the many televisions in the room lit up as a dark-skinned bloke with an eye patch wearing too much leather (I think I'll call him 'Kinky') popped up on the display. "We have a mission for you – who the fuck are they?"_

_Instantly, I knew this was going to end horribly._

* * *

Stark-Raving Mad was all over Fury in a heartbeat. "You mean you don't know? It was buried, but you're the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D." He muttered something to himself under his breath, dashing to a computer and hurriedly mashing the keyboard. I wondered if he was doing it for show, or if he was actually being useful; it looked rather like he was typing up nonsense. And then he proclaimed: "By the way, guys, I was right. I knew I was right, but you guys didn't believe me. But I was! How does that feel? I called it. Government conspiracy. Joke's on you!"

We all regarded him with varying degrees of disapproval, and Steve's was only rivaled by Fury's.

"What are you babbling on about now, Stark?" growled Fury. He was no longer looking at Logan and I.

The two of us exchanged glances, undoubtedly wondering the same thing: _is it possible to escape now, when they're all not paying attention?_

Logan nodded at me. He thought it was.

Silently, we began creeping towards the door.

"These two, are mutants," Stark threw us under the metaphorical bus right when my hand brushed the door knob. He turned to face us. "Right, Dead G– hey! Are you trying to leave?"

"Yes." Logan deadpanned. His features had shifted into something undeniably feral.

Stark didn't visibly flinch. "Okay then." But he did concede. And that was proof enough.

"Look, Director, I'm sure that Stark is just mistaken," Steve said persuasively, clapping the younger man on the shoulder with enough force to make Stark buckle a bit. "He kidnapped these poor people and made up this whole conspiracy about them being mutants just to mess with all of us. You know how he is. It's just a story. So how about we all forget about this and–"

"Stop touching me. I don't like being touched. Dead Girl, tell him I don't like being touched. RAPE, RAPEEEEE!"

"Tony, if you want anyone to take you seriously, you have to be serious," Banner said firmly. His tone was placating. "But Steve is right, Director Fury, this is probably a misunderstanding. Let's just–"

"I don't care what it is! You let two strangers into one of the most secure buildings in the world, have continually breached S.H.I.E.L.D.s security, and are telling tall tales... The worst part is that I'm willing to forgive all of that right now, because we have an emergency!" Fury shouted. Really living up to his name. Huh.

Steve was all business. "What's happening?"

"Thor just told me that he and Loki are coming back," Fury hissed.

Loki?

The Norse god of lies and mischief?

And Thor?

The Norse god of thunder, lightning, and the protector of mankind?

If they wanted to get rid of Logan and I, they need but ask. We would happily leave rather than listen to their lies...

"Why would Point Break bring Reindeer Games back? Especially considering I just found out about the mutants," mused Stark. his expression was surprisingly thoughtful for a man so vain. "The conspiracy deepens!" His tone was too bright for what he was suggesting.

"Right..." I said. "Well, as fun as this _all_ has been, Logan and I are going to–"

"I told you that if you listened to me, we would find our way to the exact location. I know you like taking the long route, as it allows you to see your Midgardian woman, but this is so much more efficient, _brother_," said an accented voice. The emphasis on their relationship was mocking and bitter, a parody of affection.

Stark, Steve, Bruce, Logan and I all turned around to see a man with long, greasy black hair smirking at at taller man with a scruffy beard and blonde hair.

"Remain silent, Loki, you are still but a prisoner," the blonde commanded. Huh. I guess he was supposed to be Thor.

"He just appeared," Logan informed me out of the corner of his mouth, leaning in close to hiss the words in my ear. "I didn't hear them approaching. It's like they teleported."

I frowned.

_This doesn't make any sense..._

"Hey, Point Break, long time no see. And you, Reindeer Games. Hope you're not here to try and conquer the planet again. We'd just kick your arse back to jail," said Stark cheerfully. He turned back to Fury. "So, why are they here, exactly?"

"Ask the two of them yourself," said Fury, and he promptly cut the line. How rude.

"_Ragnarök_ approaches," said Thor. "It ails me to ask this of you, but we must receive all the help that we can, even if that entails relying on Midgardians."

"It is not as though it does not affect them, as well," Loki said with an eye roll. "Although, it does mean that they will die for you, _brother_. How does that feel?"

In response, Thor punched him in the stomach.

Loki must have found out that he was adopted and thrown a hissy fit... a hell of a big one if he was in prison. Or, he'd pranked the wrong person. His character in mythology was known to be cruelly mischievous at times.

"Umm, can someone please explain what '_Ragnarök' _means?" asked Steve, naively raising his hand like a child in class.

"'_Ragnar__ök'_ is the day when the world ends. Think of it like the end of the Mayan calendar in 2012," I said. When Steve's gaze became even more confused, I wondered what rock he'd been hiding under to miss all the drama about the end of the world. "Y2K?" I asked. No clarity. "Basically, it's the end of the world; the final battle between the _Æsir_ and the _Jötunn_."

All eyes in the room shifted to me. I scoffed. "Just because I'm a scientist, doesn't mean I don't read mythology in my free time. Ask me any question about Greek mythology. Go on."

"Is that–?" asked Thor, his brow furrowed as he looked at me. He took a step forwards.

So did Logan.

I held my ground.

"I believe so, _brother_," agreed Loki, smirking at me. "A little lost Valkyrie, so far from home."

Now it was my turn to look confused.

_A Valkyrie? Me?_

Logically, if one believed in Norse mythology, it made sense; I went to battle, and I killed people. However, I did so literally, whereas Valkyries only marked who was meant to die. They didn't _actually_ kill people. However, I was also immortal, like a Valkyrie...

No, it didn't make sense. I had mutated genes. My affliction could be described through science, not fantasy, not myth.

"Which Valkyrie do you think she is?" asked Loki. "I suppose we could ask Brünnehild..."

Thor shook his head. "No, I think I know this Valkyrie. You are called Sigrún, are you not?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked with the same degree of incredulity I might have used if Mary Jane suddenly declared we were best mates. "I'm Victoria. And I'm a mutant, not a Valkyrie!"

But Loki just nodded his head knowingly. "I suppose that would make sense. Sigrún was known for drawing runes of victory at the scene of the battle. A clever name to disguise your true one, yet not far off from the original."

"I'm not a Valkyrie!" I shouted.

"Your secret's safe with me!" Stark called out. His voice promised later blackmail with the information.

"What's a Valkyrie?" asked Steve.

"I don't know, Old Man. You've got some years on me; why don't you tell me?"

"Guys, can you be a bit more quiet? The Other Guy doesn't like the shouting..."

"Be silent, Loki. Do not pester the Valkyrie. Our fate is sealed; now that we have seen her before battle, we are doomed for death."

"This Valkyrie is clearly manipulating the Midgardians to do as she wills, _brother_. I wish to speak to her further and learn her ways. Perhaps she assist me in –"

"What did I say about planning on taking over the world, Reindeer Games? And Dead Girl and Goliath are on our side!"

"Stark! You don't have on your armour! Stop fighting! You can't take down Loki like this!"

"Let me go, Capsicle! I screamed 'rape' once! I'll do it again!"

"How funny, _brother_. Your Midgardian pets believe they can defeat me a second time. Only the beast that makes play he is a man was able to beat me in battle, and he is far too afraid of his real self to shift and fight me again."

"Loki, did I not request that you be silent?"

"RAPE! HELP, DOCTOR, I'M BEING RAPED! Isn't this technically pedophilia?"

"The Other Guy doesn't take well to being taunted. I'm starting to lose control!"

"I was silenced for so long in prison, _brother_. What makes you think I have want to remain so now, when I can speak so freely?"

"Haha! Nice punch, Point Break! Right in the gut!"

"_Brother_, I am meant to be under your care while on Midgard? What would _father_ say?"

"HULK SMASH!"

I quietly shut the door behind Logan and I just as Bruce Banner's clothes started to rip, his muscles bulging and turning green.

"Let's just forget any of that happened," I said to Logan as we exited the building.

Logan looked at me strangely, as though I was mad for thinking he would do anything else. "Fine."


	12. Arc Two: The In-Between: Chapter 3

Ancient History 11

**A/N**: And I return with, unsurprisingly, **zero **excuses :( Sorry. I forget things exist when they don't get constant attention, only the initial sort... so please review. Really. I will forget this if people don't...

Anyway, hopefully this is worth it!

**Summary:** She told Logan she'd go with him to sort out his past. They hadn't even left New York before they ran into trouble in the form of a couple of weirdos known as "the Avengers"...Now they have to stop Ragnarök and try not to kill each other in the process. Logan/OC. In between the first and second movie.

**Disclaimer**: I own Victoria and her powers. That's it. You can't have them, and you can't steal Victoria's superpower. Please don't let me see that happen. I will be very upset if it does.

* * *

"What's first on the list?" I asked Logan as we walked side-by-side down the street. "I mean, now that we're away from those psychos, what's the priority?"

"Get out of town," Logan grumbled, glancing behind us. "But first, we _really_ have to get rid of those 'psychos'."

I followed his gaze, only to see something red and gold, shiny, flying through the air towards us very quickly. "What the–"

"Don't just stand there, let's go, Victory." Logan nearly ripped my arm off trying to tear me from my spot, but I was frozen in place.

_What the hell is that?_

"Victory!"

And then it _landed._ The face mask on the thing flipped up, revealing... _Tony Stark? Again? Really?!_ "Dead Girl, why'd you leave us hanging like that?"

"Because you people are _insane_," I deadpanned before turning around. "Come on, Logan, let's try and escape before–"

But the other members of the so-called "Avengers" had assembled around us, forming a tight circle. Loki was standing grudgingly next to his brother, looking much worse for the wear than he had when he'd arrived. I wondered who had been the one to do that? Probably his brother. Thor seemed to have anger issues. Oh, wait. No, that was Bruce Banner, wasn't it?

"Shit," Logan cursed, shooting me a pissed look. "You just had to turn around, didn't you?"

I pouted. "Shut up. You were the one staring behind us, flabbergasted. I wouldn't have even noticed that anything was wrong if you hadn't done that. Not to mention, they would have caught up with us eventually. I mean, did you _see_ how fast that suit was moving?"

I stalked over to Stark, ignoring the immediate tensing of everyone else, and began prodding at the armour. "What's this made of?" I asked, picking up his arm, which Stark had let go limp so that I could feel the full weight of the metal. "It's much lighter than I expected it to be, but it seems highly durable."

A smirk slid over Stark's lips, but his eyes were bright with excitement. "See, _she_ appreciates the suit, unlike _some people."_ He directed a glare towards Rogers, whose arms were crossed, an expression of annoyance covering his face.

"I never said that your hunk of junk wasn't shiny or whatever," said Rogers. "I just said that you're hiding in that suit."

I poked the part of the chest piece that was glowing a bright, white-blue. "What's this? Is it some sort of weapon or–"

Stark batted my hand away and took a step back. He was unexpectedly solemn. "Don't touch that."

I raised my eyebrows. "Okay...?"

"What do you lot want," Logan finally growled, moving towards me. Everyone else shifted so that they could stand in front of us.

I suddenly noticed that Banner was missing. "Wait, where did–?"

Stark snickered. "He had a bit of a big, green problem that needed taking care of."

"As for what we are in need of, that would be your help," Thor said, cerulean eyes fixed firmly on me, not even bothering to pay attention to Logan. "As was said earlier, Ragnarök approaches."

"Since we're currently missing our assassins, we figured it'd be a good idea to replace them," Stark said. "And, when we're done, we can get to the bottom of this conspiracy. I mean, next thing you know, we'll find out that there's a group of four mutants who received their powers from space or something."

I snorted. "But why should we help you?"

"Fate of the world?" Stark suggested, shrugging his shoulders. "I mean, if that's not enough for you, I guess we could go get chimichangas afterwards..."

"Please ma'am." Rogers added, his posture stiff, hands folded behind his back. "For this country, please."

I scowled. "Do you know how many wars I've fought for the sake of this country?" I shook my head. "I'm sick of fighting. I'm sick of killing and I'm sick of death."

"Besides, we have other things to do," Logan growled, his hand gripping my forearm tightly. He began to drag me along with him, but it wasn't really necessary. I just wanted to get out of here.

"You don't understand!" Rogers called out after us. "If this-this... Raknerog hits, there won't _be_ other things to do!"

"The earth will literally be destroyed," Stark tacked on. "And this isn't us just guilt-tripping you. You know that we're not lying."

"We speak only the truth," Thor said solemnly.

Loki made a noise of contempt, but it was cut off abruptly by – I assumed – Thor's elbow landing strategically on his gut. "–Omph. Fine. I am the God of Lies and Mischief. I can tell you, little lost valkyrie, that this is no falsehood."

_Well, isn't that paradoxical? The God of Lies telling me a truth. Doesn't that mean I should assume that he's lying?_

I glanced at Logan out of the corner of my eye, but his body was all hard line and angles, immovable stubbornness in place. "I don't care," he said gruffly, not even bothering to look at me. "If you don't want to...then I won't make you."

I frowned. "And Rogue? Mary Jane? If the world ends, we'll all die."

Now he was ice for another reason.

I laughed softly to myself. "That answers that question. You would do anything to..." I swallowed and forced myself to continue. "...and I promised that I would help you on this journey. If you need to do this, then I would follow you into this battle."

_And I would protect your life at the cost of mine. If what you want is the safety of those two, if being with them would make you happy..._

_Well then, I've already lost, and I might as well assist you in protecting the ones you love._

Because you're the only one I have left.

Logan's mouth was a hard line. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he also clearly had no idea what was left to be said. Because there was nothing. We could only assent to what the world had thrown at us, what these so called "Avengers" had dragged us into, what Fate so clearly wanted us to get involved in.

It was strange, believing in a higher power. But there were already gods on the planet, so it was safe to assume...

"We'll join you," Logan grumbled. "But you don't get to give the orders."

"Well that doesn't work," I disagreed, crossing my arms. "Let's clarify things right now. I don't want a pissing contest for leadership going on when we're in the middle of a battle. So who's your team leader?"

Rogers raised his hand. "That would be me, ma'am."

I raised my eyebrows. _Really? It seems like Stark's always dragging him around by his nose. A real leader..._

Logan snorted. "And how's that working out for you?"

Rogers' chest puffed out. "Well, I was in the army. I'm Captain America, you know..."

I snickered. "Please tell me you've had a costume update? I saw posters of you back in the Second World War, encouraging people to buy war bonds dressed in red white and freedom. Please tell me you–"

Stark interrupted, smirking slyly. "Not at all. I call him 'Spangles'. If you play the nickname game, you can steal that one. I'm rather proud of it."

"Ever called him 'Uncle Sam'?"

"I tried 'Rosie the Riveter' once, but he didn't like it."

"How about–"

"Focus!" Rogers seethed. "C'mon, guys, we should go back upstairs and try to work things out."

Logan raised his eyebrows. "Not until I make one thing clear: I wouldn't follow your orders if you were the last goddamned captain on the planet."

Thor and Loki were looking between the three of us, eyes shifting back in forth like they were watching an intense tennis match. Loki looked especially amused at the in-fighting.

But I had to agree with Logan. "Look, as little as I want to undermine your 'authority' and your title, you weren't a real fucking captain. You weren't authorised for combat. You were a goddamned poster boy for the war. Sit this one out as a soldier, alright, July?"

Even Stark didn't look thrilled with the arrangement. In fact, he was indignant on the part of his teammate. "To be fair, he's done a good job leading us so far–"

"How is it that you aren't dead already?" Logan sneered.

"I'm just saying–" I held up my hands in a placating manner–"I've been in and out of the military for around two and a half _centuries_ now. I have plenty of experience leading men. I was brigadier general at one point–"

"I don't see how that's possible," said Rogers. He rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly, but his voice was firm in his assertion: "I mean, you're a woman."

I paused. I felt the calm slip, my expression of indifferent haughtiness fading into something...probably dangerous based on the way Stark's hands started to glow and Roger's body began to loosen, preparing to get hit. My vision clouded and went red around the edges.

_Does he really think..._

"Say that again," I dared.

_That he'd be a better leader because he's a man?_

Rogers gulped, backtracking. "I meant no offence, ma'am. I'm just saying–"

_It's because of sexist pigs like this bloke that I had to hide my gender._

"...July, if you finish your thoughts, I'm liable to castrate you."

Logan let out a huff of amusement. "I'd watch out. She could easily kill you."

Stark scoffed on my part. "Yeah, Capsicle, I'd be careful. One touch and you're dead."

Rogers continued on like a blithering idiot. "Look, I'm not trying to be sexist! I'm just saying that women were only given permanent status in the military after the Second World War!" He scrubbed a hand down his face. "It's not possible for you to have served in a combat position before that."

I rejected his remarks with a cross of my arms. "I _beg_ to differ. I'll have you know that I fought for this country's freedom in the Revolutionary War. I risked my _life _for a bunch of ungrateful white men who preached _liberty _and practised _slavery_. I risked my _life _for a bunch of _gits _who thought women were incapable of anything that didn't involve cooking or popping out babies. And I had to dress as a _man _to do it. So _fuck you_ and your chauvinism, you misogynistic arsehole. _Fuck you_ all the way to the moon.

"...Vote for me for team captain and all that jazz. I'll bring change to this group. We can even fundraise to get Dorothy over here – out of his place, out of his time, not in Kansas any more – a better suit," I said sarcastically. I brushed past him, moving towards Starks' tower without looking back. "Oh, and July? Welcome to the twenty-first fucking century, where feminism is a thing. Cheers."

Logan followed me, chuckling.

"What just happened?" I heard Rogers mumble.

"You didn't listen, that's what happened," Stark replied. He sniggered. "Oh, that was beautiful, Dead Girl. Brava!"


End file.
